


Desiderium

by Ariejul



Series: Alone in the Fallout [20]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Adult Themes, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Babies, Familial Love, Family Reunions, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, I Love You, Love Triangles, Mental Anguish, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pain, Post-Game, Pregnancy, Sorrow, Suicidal Thoughts, Surprises, Survivor Guilt, Unbearable Agony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-03 15:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/pseuds/Ariejul
Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing, particularly for something once had; a grief or regret for the absence or loss of something or someone.Vault 111 carries many ghosts. Julia isn't prepared for the one Deacon finds.AU- divergent from the rest of the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsolace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsolace/gifts).



> Hey guys!
> 
> So, this is something different, and it is completely sunsolace's fault for encouraging me. Speaking of, go read Marriage and Other Forms of War. It's brilliant, and entirely the reason why this even exists. 
> 
> As mentioned, this is an AU. However, it does follow the main story line of this little series, with minor tweaks. This picks up after the current turn of events (Julia is still pregnant, etc), save for what would make this tale impossible.
> 
> For the sake of simplicity, everything that happens in the main story line before Julia is 7 months pregnant has happened unless otherwise impossible (like Nate being buried in a grave in Sehnsucht). Julia also does not have his ring, as she never opened the pod to get it.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys this. 
> 
> Comment/kudos are appreciated, as always.

Julia sighs, stopping at the crumbling footbridge and gazing down the small stream it spans. Being so heavily pregnant is cumbersome, and she despises how easily she tires. Closing her eyes, her thoughts drift, recalling the terror she felt crossing this little bridge the day the world burned. Nate held Shaun as he followed, and Julia muses that if she had been the one to carry him that day, she wouldn’t even be here.

She never believed that would be the last morning she spent with her beautiful family, never thought for a moment how deeply corrupt Vault-Tec was. She should have known better.

Pressing a hand to her rotund belly, she jolts when her baby kicks sharply against her palm. Even now, she still isn’t used to it. This little one is much more active than Shaun ever was. All her sweet little boy did was decide pressing heavily against her bladder was his favorite activity, and she counts her blessings this one isn’t fond of that. Small miracles. This pregnancy hasn’t been nearly so trying as her first; Curie assures her that everything is progressing well.

Julia is glad for that, at least. She’d been bedridden almost a month at this point with Shaun.

The path to Vault 111 is a graveyard of memory; one that Julia wishes she did not have to relive. Even so, she owes it to her sweet, gentle husband – dead and gone too soon – to pay her respects. She decided long ago that the Vault would be his sepulcher, their neighbors his kin who breathed their last in those suffocating cyro coffins. It seemed wrong, somehow, to disturb their eternal slumber, to have them rot in unforgiving earth.

Deacon is only a few steps behind her, enough space given to allow her this penance, this lingering grief for a life no longer hers. He doesn’t truly understand it, but he respects it all the same, just as she respects his own. Shaun, thankfully, is visiting with the Longs. She cannot bear the thought of him seeing this. Not yet.

The Klaxon signifying the Vault elevator is primed for descent is blaring in the stillness, and Julia has to push away the cloying fear of another cloud blooming along the horizon, eager to destroy all she knows once again. She reaches for Deacon’s hand as they step onto the automated platform.

 _I love you,_ Nate’s ghost whispers softly.

Julia swallows down the wave of anxiety that washes over her when the doors slide closed above them as the elevator creeps ever downward. The ride is long and silent, save for metal creaking and screeching against metal. If she closes her eyes, she can hear her neighbors weeping. Deacon squeezes her hand when she flinches at a particularly loud clang. Julia manages a strained smile.

She can hear Nate’s voice as they reach their destination. _We made it._

 _No,_ she thinks, cautiously walking up the steps into the Vault, _we didn’t._

Her baby kicks again, hard, and Julia winces. Blue eyes so concerned come into view, and Julia has difficulty determining just who they belong to. The rusting halls crawl with the phantoms of her past, reaching out to pull her under. The only thing keeping her afloat is the warm weight wrapped around her palm. She’s so glad he insisted she didn’t come alone.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, knowing it’s a lie.

The ancient corridor leading to her husband’s crypt is longer than she remembers, a gaping chasm drawn out before her. She continues on, focused in her goal, and suddenly, she is standing in the doorway. Her feet refuse to move further.

“Jules?” Deacon’s gaze studies her, and she can’t fathom what he finds.

“Give...” she gasps, suddenly breathless, free hand pressed against the frame, “just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together, a lifeline in the tsunami of her sorrow.

Her husband is waiting, his body cold and all he is gone forever, and Julia can’t keep the tears away. They pour, streaming down her cheeks like mini waterfalls. How long has it been since she shed a drop for her Nate? How long since she ached for him in the night? How long since she truly missed him?

She doesn’t know the answer.

Julia finally wills her feet forward, Deacon a half-step behind her. The Vault computer continues its crackling, looped warning, the first words Julia heard in centuries when she woke, and she stops in front of the chamber that cradles her husband’s earthly remnant. This was supposed to be a new start, a way to survive the ending of the world. Biting her lip, Julia morosely thinks that in a way, it was. They all lived past the day of atomic fire. If not for the Institute, they would all still be here, suspended in time, waiting for the day they could awaken.

She presses her hand against the window pane, studies the ice clinging to her Nate’s handsome face. Her hand slips from Deacon’s as he pulls back, allowing her this moment alone. From the sound of his footsteps, he’s walked back toward the front of the room, fiddling with the terminal there. _Always time to learn more,_ he’d say with a lop-sided grin. _Never know what these old terminals might hold._ Julia honestly has no idea what information they might contain; the only terminal she touched was the one that opened her escape route.

She studies the lines of Nate’s face, can just see the scars that track up the right side beneath the layer of permafrost, and allows herself to remember. The way his hands lingered on her bare skin when she was fresh from the shower, the feel of his lips pressing to hers, the gentle caress of his calloused fingers against her sensitive skin. Julia clenches her eyes shut at the thought.

She was a terrible wife to him; he deserved so much more. He went to his grave never knowing how she loved his little brother, how she allowed him to touch her while Nate fought for her freedom, for the hope of a better future. She always felt such guilt for her actions, and that she settled for one brother when she couldn’t have the other.

Looking back, it was all so incredibly stupid and childish.

She starts when the chamber door beneath her fingers hisses with the tell-tale signs of decompression. Deacon’s hands are on the release, bringing the cold piece of machinery back to life. Disturbing her Nate’s final rest. Julia panics, trying to close it again, but Deacon stops her. “What are you _doing?!”_ Anger laces her words, tight bands clamping around her chest.

Something she cannot place, something wild and raw and broken, lingers in Deacon’s gaze, choking anything else she might say. He threads his fingers between hers and presses a single, lingering kiss to her lips that feels strangely like goodbye. He leans close, breath tickling her neck as he whispers in her ear. “Jules, Nate is alive.”

The door opens, and Nate’s body falls out. Except it’s gagging, sucking in ragged breaths that wheeze wetly from the hole in his chest. Julia crumbles, heart leaping up her throat as she just _stares._ Nate is alive. He’s breathing. He was never _gone._ He was just... he was here, and because she was too cowardly to face it...

Her lover’s hands press against the bleeding wound in her husband’s chest. The entire thing strikes her as funny, and she can’t help but cackle brokenly. Her husband is alive. Her sweet, wonderful, beautiful Nate is _alive_ , and she’s pregnant with another man’s child.

“ _Julia!”_ Deacon snaps, bloody fingers jamming a stimpak roughly into the meat of Nate’s chest. She doesn’t understand where he found that. Did he have that on his person? Does Deacon always carry them? She doesn't... can't remember...

Deacon is saving the man that will take her away, and she doesn’t understand why. She doesn’t understand why he even told her. She’d never have known... he could have just lied. Lied like he always does, and they could continue on in domestic bliss. So, why...? Why would he...?

She limply drops beside her husband’s prone form, watching the way the skin beneath the ragged hole in his vault suit is knitting itself together under the stim’s influence. Julia reaches out, numbly, touching Nate’s face. She gasps when his eyes fly open, foggy and unfocused.

“It’s okay,” she manages, grabbing his hand and hanging on for dear life. “Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. Breathe for me.” Julia can’t bear to look at the man sitting opposite her, with his fingers covered in the blood of his rival and wonders faintly if this is just some sick dream. If it is, she wishes she’d just wake up already. “Nate, breathe. I love you, baby. _Breathe._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stimpaks are magic. That is all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Deacon discuss their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter hurts me. A lot.
> 
> I have no idea if this is even remotely realistic. I mean, I *think* it is, but... then again, it might be a soap opera? 
> 
> Everyone is definitely a mess. A big damned mess.
> 
> Also, I listened to Boy Epic's "Tell Me You Love Me" a ton when writing/editing this. It feels very appropriate. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQDZyovHAzE
> 
> Go give it a listen and weep with me.
> 
> Comments/kudos always appreciated. I like hearing what you think, and it definitely motivates me like crazy.

Julia sits in her living room, staring at her hands. She still can’t process what’s happened. Her Nate is alive, and according to Curie, he’s going to stay that way. _Thanks to Monsieur Deacon’s quick thinking,_ she’d said.

She sighs, gaze alighting on the hero himself. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, a fact that unsettles her deeply. Since Nate was pulled from the Vault, Deacon’s backed off, a specter of the man she knows. He’s barely said anything, and he certainly hasn’t touched her.

She bites back the urge to thank him because it’s _cruel_ , and her arms itch to hold him but that’s wrong, too. Pressing a hand against the swell of her stomach instead, she focuses on keeping her heart steady in the dimming twilight. She should say something. Anything. But she can barely breathe.

“Jul –” Deacon stops, inhales sharply. “Charmer.”

The code name burns, the distance between them suddenly a gaping, ugly thing she doesn’t know how to traverse. Julia studies her lover with glassy eyes. _Is he really your lover anymore? Is he your anything?_ Should _he be?_

He’s trying _so hard_ to remain in control. She can see how tight the line of his shoulders is, the way his foot slightly trembles propped on the wall he’s leaning against, how his gaze keeps drifting to her before skittering away; he’s frightened, rattled, itching for the same contact she is, but he’s holding back. She wishes he wouldn’t. She needs him. Even though it’s wrong.

“Ryan,” she whispers brokenly, hands balling into fists atop her knees.

Deacon jolts at that, grimacing. “Don’t,” he says, hoarsely.

Julia closes her eyes, tears leaking from between her lashes. “I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry_.” As if this is somehow all her fault. Maybe it is. If she’d just _noticed... just checked Nate’s pod when she woke..._

He manages to almost sound like himself, light and jovial. She’s nearly convinced. “Aw, don’t be like that, my friend. He’ll be up and moving before you know it, and you can ride off into the sunset happily ever after.”

That _hurts,_ reminding her of his holotape farewell. That feels like so long ago. If only she’d listened then...

 _Nate would still be silent and cold, locked away in his pod for the rest of eternity because_ Deacon _was the one who noticed._ Deacon _was the one who set him free. Not you. Never you. Coward. Nate would still be a memory without_ Deacon.

She doesn’t want this. She wants Deacon to hold her and call her Jules and tell her everything will be okay because they’re together. Deacon and Charmer. Ryan and Jules. Death Bunnies Extraordinaire, saving the Commonwealth one disaster at a time. Together, they can do anything.

“What about you?” she asks softly.

He chuckles, slipping into the easy, carefree persona she remembers from when they first met. She hadn’t known what to look for then, but now, all she can see is the pain writhing beneath, the sorrow that is like an old friend clawing to get out. The walls he builds to keep everyone else out.

“Whatcha worrin’ about me for? I’m good.” He crosses her arms over his chest, and he’s suddenly so very far away from her. Further than he’s ever been.

“Liar,” she breathes, her entire being aching for him. Deacon had nothing when she met him, and now… he has nothing once more. None of it is fair.

He huffs a mirthless laugh. “’Course I am, Charmer. Took you long enough to finally notice.”

Before she can think better of it, Julia is on her feet in front of him. Too close for the casual contact of friends. Too far away for the familiarity of lovers. Somewhere disastrously in between. “Ryan, please. I need you.”

He stares at her, back ramrod straight, trying to melt into the wall behind him. He wets his lips anxiously, and he reaches for her momentarily before pulling back. “C’mon, you don’t _really_ need me. Your _husband’s_ back, remember?”

She reels like he slapped her, but he isn’t wrong. With Nate alive, the place Deacon resided in her life no longer exists. It’s fantasy to think she can keep him. It was always a fantasy, it seems, one she’s finally woken from.

All she wants right now is to fall back to sleep, into that beautiful dream.

“Why did you save him?” she asks, voice breaking as she goes. “You could have lied to me. I didn’t know any better, and I never would have. Why? Why would you do this?” God, she just wants to touch him, hold him, kiss all that sorrow away, but she _can’t._ Not now. She promised herself she would never do that to Nate, ever again.

Deacon rubs his face and exhales roughly. “He’s your husband. Did you really expect me to _lie_ to you when I found out he _wasn’t_ dead?”

Julia’s heart breaks open, bloody and raw as she considers her answer. Of course she did; it’s what Deacon _does._ The first truth she learned, the first she _knew_ with such certainty _,_ so long ago in that underground crypt. _Poetic, that you met in a grave, that you were doomed to a slow death before you ever began._

Now... she isn’t certain of anything. Only that she wishes that he _had_ because she doesn’t want to lose this beautiful man before her; a man she fought tooth and nail to save and dragged kicking and screaming into a semblance of happiness. She had already put her husband to rest; it would have been okay if he stayed there.

That thought makes her feel sick.

“I just...” She closes her eyes, hugging herself. “I...” _Love you_ hangs in the back of her throat. She swallows them down. Those words are a dagger strike to the heart, and she can’t do that. Not when he’s already bleeding out in front of her eyes. _And you can’t save him, just like Nate. Just like Shaun. Just like_ everyone.

“Don’t cry,” he says tenderly as tears slip down her face. “It’s not the end of the world.”

The life inside her, the one they made together, stirs, and Julia doesn’t know what to _do._ She can’t get over how much it feels like her world actually _is_ ending all over again. “Deacon. _Ryan..._ ”

He grabs her shoulders, roughly. It startles her. “Charmer,” he says, leaning down and holding her gaze. She wishes so desperately to see his eyes, hidden as they are from her. Her gaze dances along the stern lines of his face, soaking in every detail. It would be so simple to close the distance between them, to kiss him. “You have to stop.”

She doesn’t.

Wetness clings to her cheeks as she stares, slack-jawed. “But I...”

“If you ever loved me, let me go while I still can,” he murmurs, voice shattering across the words. “Live your life with him, and forget you ever knew a man named Ryan.”

Julia’s eyes widen, her whole body trembling. “What about our baby?”

He flinches at that, gaze dropping to her bulging middle. He releases her like it burns. “Is yours, Charmer. I’d be a shit dad anyway. Raise it with him. Better your upstanding soldier boy than a lying scumbag like me.”

“ _Don’t fucking say that!_ ” she screams, her eyes an endless fount for tears streaming down her face. Deacon had been _ecstatic_ when she told him, so excited at the very thought of having the family he always wanted, but now... he’s just throwing it away, like it never mattered. Like _garbage_.

Julia knows deep down that if she lets him walk, Deacon is going to die. Maybe not by his own hand, but apathy is just as potent a tool as any weapon. The Commonwealth provides death in spades, after all. If he leaves, he will be gone forever.

She can’t let that happen.

He turns his back on her – a sure sign all the trust she earned is still there – hands clenched into fists. “You have him back. Why can’t you just give it up already? It was fun, but it’s _over._ ”

Her arms wrap around his waist of their own accord, hands resting atop his sternum. Anything to stop his heart from hemorrhaging all this pain, to keep him from shattering beneath the weight of it. Julia would do whatever she could to save him, without hesitation. Her forehead presses against his spine. Deacon stiffens at the contact, but Julia refuses to release him. “Because we’re the Death Bunnies, remember? Can’t be without you.”

Those words are easier to say than _I can’t live without you._

“Charmer –”

“It’s _Jules_ ,” she snaps, clinging to him. “I can’t lie to myself enough to forget you, and I don’t want to.” She’s gasping into the back of his t-shirt. “I _won’t.”_

A hand hesitantly rests atop hers, thumb stroking the back of her hand with a tenderness that destroys her. Deacon says nothing more, his touch light and fleeting, but he isn’t running. For now, he’s still here. He’s still breathing.

Now, she just has to figure out how to keep him that way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explaining to Shaun that Nate isn't dead is a bomb waiting to blow up in Julia's face. Deacon's eagerness to leave only makes matters worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we have our next installment of this fun little ride.
> 
> Everyone's excited right? Right?!
> 
> Anyway, when I originally drafted this chapter, I forgot that Shaun wasn't a ten year old anymore. Oops. Hopefully, I managed to make him sound more appropriately aged. 
> 
> We will eventually get a chapter with Nate awake. Promise. There's just a lot of other stuff that needs to talked about before.
> 
> Anyway, hope everyone enjoys.
> 
> Comment/kudos are always appreciated.

Explaining to Shaun is a messy, trying ordeal that leaves everyone worn thin.

He stares at her, his eyes flitting toward Deacon, who is standing behind her as far away as possible while still being in the room. Julia nearly had to twist his arm to get him to be here, but she didn’t want to do this alone.

“You mean… my real dad isn’t dead? He’s alive?” It’s still hard to believe her little boy is a teenager now. He looks more like Nate than ever.

Julia nods, willing away the moisture pressing against her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry. Not yet. “That’s right. Curie’s making sure he’s okay. He hasn’t woken up yet, but when he does, we could go visit, if you’d like.”

“I think I’d like that,” Shaun smiles a little, nodding, but it breaks quickly. He glances off behind her, and Julia doesn’t have to look to know he’s studying Deacon.

Deacon, who is still here, but might as well be gone.

His eyes are bright with worry when he looks back to her. “What about Dad? He’s going to stay, isn’t he?” He turns his attention to the man in question. “You are, right?”

Deacon doesn’t say anything, and when Julia turns toward him, he’s biting his lip with a deeply troubled expression.

She watches her son’s face crumble, tears welling in his eyes, reminding her of the little boy he no longer truly is. He charges over, slams headlong into Deacon’s chest and grips him tight. God, he’s gotten so tall. His head nearly reaches Deacon’s shoulders now. “You can’t go,” he declares, voice cracking. “You just started teaching me how to shoot with rifles. And the baby… I don’t want him to be like me. He’s gotta know _his_ dad. You can’t leave! You promised me you wouldn’t!”

Deacon freezes at the contact, entire being rigid and doesn’t relax into it like he usually does. He isn’t actively pushing Shaun away, but he also isn’t engaging him. “It’ll be okay, squirt,” he finally manages, the words thick and unwieldy. “You’ve got your real dad back. You don’t need me anymore.” Julia watches the anguish wash raw over Deacon’s face, the way his own words cut deep and can barely stand it.

Shaun flinches, his hands clenching tighter around the material of Deacon’s shirt. “No! _You’re_ my dad. I don’t even _know_ him. I won’t let you run away!” Shaun’s voice, usually so gentle, is fierce in a way Julia has never heard, and it steals her breath.

Deacon is clearly startled by the vehemence, and Julia realizes as he’s roughly swiping at his eyes while Shaun isn’t looking that he’s been silently weeping. It nearly breaks her, right there. “Shaun,” he says, voice wavering, “you can’t be selfish, buddy.”

“I’m _not_ selfish,” he argues, glaring at the older man. “It’s not selfish to love someone, and I love you. I know you love me and Momma, too.”

Deacon sighs, glancing toward her in a silent plea for help, but Julia has no idea how to handle this situation. She just wants everything to go back to the way it was. “Shaun,” she calls out, “honey, I know it’s hard, but sometimes… sometimes people just can’t stay together.”

He stares at her like she’s grown a second head. After a moment, his eyes grow hard, and he shakes his head. “That’s stupid, Mom. People who love each other should be together, and anybody that says otherwise is _wrong._ ”

It _is_ stupid, but the world never gave two shits about that. Julia is suddenly so tired of it all. She beckons Shaun over wearily. “C’mere, baby. Give Momma a hug.”

He sighs. “I’m not a baby, Mom.” Leaving Deacon with reluctance, he eyes him like he’s going to disappear if he doesn’t keep watching as he sits beside her and wraps her up in his arms.

She pets his auburn hair, silent tears slipping down her face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I know it’s hard.”

“It isn’t fair,” he presses his face into the crook of her neck and huffs petulantly.

Deacon clenches his eyes shut. “Sometimes life isn’t, kid, but that’s just how it is.”

“That’s bullshit,” Shaun seethes, pulling away from her to glare at Deacon.

“Shaun!” Julia gasps, eyes wide. He’s never cursed before.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he says to her, not sounding the least bit apologetic, “but that’s the truth. You might be okay with Dad leaving, but I’m _not.”_ He turns back to Deacon, fists clenched tightly. “If you do leave, I’ll follow you. I won’t stop until I bring you back.”

Deacon’s face hardens. “Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“Why not? The truth hurts, but someone around here has to say it!” he snarls, eyes alight with fire. “I don’t want you to leave, and this time, I’m big enough to stop you. I won’t let you abandon me again!”

That causes Deacon to freeze. His hands slowly close into fists as he inhales roughly. “Shaun, this isn’t about you.”

“Fine. Not like you really give a shit about me anyway,” Shaun snarls, angry tears welling in his eyes that he furiously swipes away. “I’m sick of this. Do what you want, since I’m too stupid to get it.” He charges out the front door, slamming it so hard behind him the wall shakes.

Julia flinches from the sound. She should go after him, try to calm him down, but she doesn’t know how. Everything in her life is falling apart, and she can’t fix it. She hadn’t even realized just how much Deacon leaving that first time still affected her baby boy. A part of her feels like she should have.

Deacon doesn’t make a move, gaze fixed on the door. He’s trembling.

“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just upset,” she whispers, trying to rid him of that haunted, hunted expression. It’s one she hasn’t seen in a very long time. Not since Dez told them Coursers were spotted when Ticon went dark.

His expression does shift, to something overly saccharine and fake enough to make her stomach turn. He manages a passable grin. “It’s okay. Was only a matter of time before he hated me, too.” He closes his eyes with a sigh. “Can’t hide the fact I’m a coward forever.”

Julia looks up at him, her own eyes red-rimmed. “Please,” she hears herself beg, “Don’t do this.”

He flinches and turns away. “It’s for the best, and you know it. You really think your husband would be excited to have me hanging around his family?”

“I don’t give two shits what Nate wants right now,” she snaps, rising from her seat. “This isn’t really about him, anyway. This is just you running scared again, and I agree with Shaun. If you leave, pregnant or not, I’ll be hot on your heels. I’ll drag Curie along with me if I have to.”

“Charmer –”

“Don’t _‘Charmer’_ me, and I thought I told you to call me Jules?” She pinches the bridge of her nose in irritation. “Ryan, please, just… give me this? I can’t – I can’t handle Nate being back, and you leaving, too. I’m barely holding it together right now as it is.”

He swallows, fingers digging into the meat of his palms. “Seeing you with him, I…” Deacon closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“Nate is laid up in a clinic bed unconscious right now, and he’s gonna be there for a while. For once in your life, stop running. _Stay_. Face this. I need you to do that for me, and for Shaun.” She cuts her eyes up to him. “Or if not us, then for our baby.”

Deacon grimaces at the mention of their child. “Charmer, I can’t –”

She cuts him off irritably. “I hope you honestly don’t think I buy that bullshit you tried to feed me about Nate being a better father. He is not raising your child. You are. End of Story. _Don’t_ argue with me about that.”

“Why can’t you just accept it?” It’s difficult, watching him self-destruct like this, one piece at a time.

“Because it’s a _lie_ , Ryan. Maybe you believe it, but I never will.” Julia can’t keep the sadness from her tone as she fights the urge to take him in her arms and never let go. Walking over, her fingers trace along the back of his hand, not quite willing to take it. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it’s selfish, but I can’t lose you. It’s my choice.”

She leans in, and he flinches only slightly when she pulls his sunglasses away. Julia kisses him, nails scraping against the nape of his neck. Surprisingly enough, he responds in kind, hands cupping her face like a precious thing. When they break apart, his hands wander automatically to her belly, and the baby shifts under his touch. His eyes slide closed and a weak sigh slips past his lips.

“I so don’t deserve you,” Deacon murmurs, and she can tell he’s starting to give in, at least a little.

“Well, you’re stuck with me.”

He huffs a little. “At least ‘til you come to your damn senses.”

She brushes a lock of his hair back, gazing into his eyes. “I’ve got to go see if I can find Shaun. You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?”

He steps back reluctantly. “Yeah,” he swallows, “I’ll be here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Shaun talk about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned this chapter to be the Nate is awake one. But at the end of the last chapter, I felt like Julia wouldn't just let things lie with Shaun. So, this is her going after him. 
> 
> Just a warning here. There are some vaguely suicidal sounding thoughts in this chapter. It's pretty ambiguous, but still thought I'd toss a warning out there.
> 
> Things will eventually get better, guys.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comment/kudos always appreciated :3

Once Julia gets outside, her resolve crumbles and her knees buckle, dropping her to the cement. Tears slip wildly down her face as she gasps. She clutches her stomach, unable to calm her racing heart. Telling herself she has to get up, she has to move before Deacon thinks to follow, she attempts to stand, to do _anything_ other than wallow in her own misery. Her body has different ideas, however, and she just can’t manage to make it back to her feet no matter how hard she tries.

“Dammit,” she murmurs. “Why now? I have to… my son…”

“Julia?”

Her head snaps up. Danse is standing there, staring with something akin to horror on his face. He’s by her side in an instant, kneeling in front of her. “Er, hi, Danse,” she greets, wiping uselessly at her eyes.

He frowns. “Are you alright? Are you injured?”

Her life is crumbling around her, everything is uncertain, and she isn’t sure if it will ever be okay again. Julia shakes her head. “No, I’m not hurt.” Physically, anyway.

The former paladin clearly doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t say anything as he lifts her bridal-style into his arms.

She grips his shirt at the shock of suddenly being in his arms. “Danse! Put me down.”

He huffs in annoyance. “So you can collapse again? I don’t think so. I’m taking you to the clinic so you can be checked over.”

She doesn’t have the energy to truly protest. Julia allows herself to relax in Danse’s arms, burying her face in his chest so no one else can see the mess she’s in. “I’m sorry, Danse.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Julia. We’re friends. This is what we do for each other,” he replies, voice a pleasant rumble against her. “Though, I think I should have a discussion with Deacon for allowing you to get to such a state.”

“It’s not his fault,” she whispers. “Please, don’t tell him about this.” He'll find out soon enough, and Julia isn't sure she can handle that conversation just yet. 

He sighs, stirring her hair. “If that’s what you want.”

Julia nods into his chest, gripping his shirt tight in her hands. “It is.”

The walk to the clinic is a short one, but it feels like a lifetime. Julia doesn’t even want to think about how many people saw her being carried down the street like a newlywed. She’s going to get so many questions, and she isn’t sure she can bear the attention right now.

“Oh!” Curie exclaims upon see them. “Julia! Is everything alright? What is wrong?” She dashes over, pulling Julia’s face toward her, studying intently. Her expression softens considerably when she sees her tears. “Monsieur Danse, set her on the bed there, if you please.”

Danse complies quickly. “I found her collapsed on the sidewalk weeping. She stated she was fine, but I thought it best she be checked out all the same,” he tells the doctor. Julia thinks she ought to feel a little offended at him talking like she isn’t here but can’t quite muster the indignation for it. She flinches at the sudden contact of Curie’s hands, an irrational fear curling through her.

“Does it hurt?” Curie asks softly.

Julia shakes her head. “No, I’ve just… had a really hard day.”

The doctor nods in understanding and continues her ministrations.

Julia glances over to Danse, who is standing awkwardly in the corner with averted eyes. “Thanks, Danse. For the help.”

He blushes, faintly. “Of course. I couldn’t in good conscience leave you there.”

“Even so, I do…” a sob catches her off-guard, “appreciate it.”

Curie is done with quick efficiency. “Julia, your heart rate is elevated and your blood pressure is high. I must insist you rest. You are going to seriously injure yourself and your baby, if you do not.”

Panic surges up in her throat, but she manages to swallow it back down. "My baby's okay, right?"

She nods with a reassuring smile. "Yes, but I cannot say it will continue to be if you do not follow my instructions."

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs softly, threading her fingers together in her lap and staring at them. Julia silently wonders if maybe hurting herself wouldn't be so bad. If that might get Deacon to actually stay. Those thoughts are harder to brush aside than she cares to really think about. “There’s just… my life’s falling apart. I can’t let that happen.”

Danse and Curie’s gazes soften at that. “Is there anything we can do?” he asks.

Julia closes her eyes tightly, wetness sliding from them. “I have to make sure Deacon stays. I can’t… we can’t lose him now. I’m scared he’s going to bolt.”

Curie glances toward Danse, who nods. “Consider it done.” And before Julia can think to stop him, he’s gone.

Her doctor takes her hand gently. “Everything will be alright. I'm going to give you a shot to help you relax."

Julia nods, feeling the prick of the needle in her arm a moment later.

"Would you like me to get Shaun so he can sit with you?” Curie asks.

“Shaun?” she asks wetly. “He’s here?”

Curie nods with a smile. “He requested to see our newest patient, and I could not refuse.” She stands, heading back toward the hall. “I will return in a moment.”

The next face she sees is that of her son. “Mom?” He sounds so worried.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” She tries to wipe away the evidence of her tears, knowing it’s futile.

“Momma! Don’t worry about me!” He’s by her side in an instant, arms wrapped tightly around her. “Are _you_ okay? When Curie told me you were here, I…” he chokes on his words, a little, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

She holds him, shushing softly, even as her own tears refuse to stop. “I’m okay, baby. Just tired, is all.”

“The baby? He’s okay, too, right?”

Julia nods, stroking her belly. “Just fine. Don’t worry. Your momma’s tougher than you give her credit.”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he chokes, fisting her shirt in his hands. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You don’t hate me, do you?”

“No, we don’t hate you, honey,” she says firmly, her heart aching. “And it’s not your fault. None of this is anyone’s fault.” She swallows down the urge to accept the fault as her own, knowing it won't help anyone.

Shaun nods against her shoulder, his breath a gentle warmth against her skin.

“Curie said you were here with Nate?”

Shaun flinches, hands pulling at her shirt. “Yeah,” he finally says, unwilling to look at her. “I thought… I should see who was gonna be my dad now, since…” He doesn’t finish, words tapering off into a soft sob. “I don’t _want_ a new dad. I want Deacon.”

 _Me, too,_ Julia thinks, squeezing him.

“Is he gone?” he asks when she doesn’t respond.

“No, baby.” Her fingers thread through his hair. “He’s still here. I promise.”

He leans against her, clinging like she might disappear if he lets go. Julia can’t tell if he believes her, but at least he isn’t arguing. “I really will go after him,” he vows, pulling back enough to look her in the eye. “I _will.”_

“I know,” she says, cupping his cheek. She can’t stand seeing that look on her baby’s face, that sorrow she can’t take away. That, in many ways, she herself put there. “I’d be right there with you.”

“You would?” he asks, eyes wide in astonishment.

She nods, managing a small smile as the medicine starts to curl around her thoughts. “It might not look it, but I love Deacon very much. I don’t want him to leave anymore than you do, baby. We’ll tie him to the bed if we have to, okay?”

A grin, small and trembling though it is, appears on his face. “Okay, Mom.” He glances hesitantly down the hall. Toward Nate. “What about… Nate? I mean, you love him, too, right?” He blushes at that, looking away.

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen with Nate, sweetie,” she admits honestly. “But yes, I do.”

Shaun whimpers a little, crawling into the bed beside her and curling into her. “Maybe he should have stayed dead,” he murmurs, burying his face in her shoulder.

Julia’s heart drops into her stomach at that. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.” He glances up at her with red eyes. “He’s been asleep since they took me as a baby, right?”

Julia nods, unable to follow his train of thought as hazy bliss slides through her. Shaun knows the story of his rescue inside and out. She refused to hide that truth from him. She wanted him to know the sacrifices of her birthed son, of Father, who gave her sweet, little boy back to her, how him being here at all is a miracle. A beautiful miracle. One that she is still in awe of, every day.

“So, to him, that _just_ happened, but… when he wakes up, everything’s going to be different. I’m not a baby anymore, and there’s Dad and the new baby, and the world’s changed, too.” His eyes brighten a little, like a thought just occurred to him. “Is that why Dad’s trying to leave, y’think?”

“Mm, maybe. I really don’t know, hon.” When Nate wakes, it will be like her own awakening: lost and alone in an unforgiving world. The thought of that is a lance through the heart. Her poor, sweet Nate. Maybe it would have been kinder to leave him asleep. Would he find cold oblivion kinder than his family belonging to another man?

Julia doesn’t feel she knows him well enough to answer that anymore.

“We’ll make it through. We always do,” she whispers in his hair, her own gaze flicking toward the hall. A shiver of trepidation slips down her spine at the thought of her husband waking. A choice looms heavy on the horizon, and Julia dreads it. She fears what will happen when it’s made, fears for the lives that choice is sure to destroy.

For now, she holds her son and kisses his brow and tries to forget that there’s anything wrong at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon stumbles hard.
> 
> Deacon's PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. This chapter is very dark. I think it's the darkest thing I've ever honestly written. There are thoughts of suicide, attempted suicide, self-loathing and alcohol abuse aplenty.
> 
> If any of this is too much for you, feel free to skip this chapter (though I do recommend reading it). I'll type up a summary in the post note. 
> 
> Deacon is, canonically, not a happy character though he hides it very well, and this is him reaching his absolute limit. He has a lot of demons that he shoves down and tries to ignore, and that's incredibly unhealthy behavior. 
> 
> I know Deacon has been kind of a shithead lately, but well, the poor man doesn't know how to deal with this. His flight response has kicked in pretty hard, and he really does believe Julia would be better off without him.
> 
> Also, I am not a drinker, so I know diddly-poop nothing about alcohol. Just imagine whatever Deacon has is the nastiest, most alcoholic crap he could get his hands on. The shit is nasty, little better than paint thinner stuff.
> 
> My heart really hurts, guys.
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to say, as someone who suffers from depression, that suicide is not the answer. If any of you are having these feelings, please reach out for help. You are loved. You are worth it. It will get better. 
> 
> While editing this, I listened to Take the Bullets Away by We As Human, and while it's a religious song, it felt very appropriate for Deacon's mindset this chapter. The lyrics struck a deep cord with me, specifically:
>
>> Am I worthless?  
> Am I filthy?  
> Am I too far gone for a remedy?  
> Will you help me?  
> 'Cause I'm dying  
> To be something more than a memory  
> If I reach out  
> Can I trust you?  
> Will you help me see the light of one more day?
> 
>   
> Feel free to give it a listen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2T40qPAO-0
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> They feed my soul.

Slipping away from the former paladin’s watchful gaze is easier than Deacon imagined it would be. A couple of night-night drops in his drink at supper, and Danse was out like a light.

“Sorry, Danse, buddy, but I gotta sneak out for a little while. No hard feelings, alright?” He pats the man’s head, and he snorts in his sleep. Deacon pushes down the guilt welling up in his chest as slips out the door.

This time of night, most people are snug in their beds, and that suits him just fine. The less people who see him the better. Danse probably has all of Sanctuary aware of Deacon’s captivity, and he doesn’t want to field any questions right now or be dragged back. He slips into his room, careful not to wake Preston or Sturges, and grabs a bottle tucked away in the back of his cabinet before walking back out into the darkness.

He contemplates walking out the gates into the night and leaving Sanctuary far behind, but Shaun’s declaration causes him to turn away. He can’t in good conscience have a fourteen year old chase after his sorry hide. If Shaun got killed because of him… he grips the bottle in his hands tightly and heads toward the clinic.

Charmer’s there, laid up in a sickbed from all the stress. He hasn’t visited. Danse tried to drag him there once or twice, but Deacon managed to convince him it was better if he stayed away. She might not see it yet, but Charmer is better off without him. She always was.

He manages to tiptoe past Curie’s watchful gaze, glancing toward Charmer’s bed as he passes by. She’s sleeping, and Shaun, the dutiful son, is in the bed beside her. Good. She can certainly use the company. He idly wonders if MacCready has been visiting with Duncan. A twinge of jealousy spirals in his chest that he shoves down. No point in that. Not now.

Sidling down the hall, he easily finds the room of Sanctuary’s newest resident. Charmer’s husband, alive again. It’s a goddamn miracle.

Deacon slides into the chair at the man’s bedside and just stares at the steady rise and fall of his chest. He cracks open the fifth of gut rot he’d stashed for occasions such as these and downs a long pull from it. It’s disgusting, but it’ll get the job done. All he wants right now is to fucking forget everything.

Charmer’s husband is pale and still appears sickly, but he’s going to live. And Deacon’s the hero of the hour, the one who made it all possible. Just because he couldn’t stomach the thought of keeping her when she could have the man she truly loved back.

He’d like to think when he opened that pod, he had fully prepared himself for this. That he was really okay with Charmer forgetting him and going back to her husband. That Shaun calling someone else _Dad_ wasn’t going to tear him apart. That Charmer’s perfect soldier boy raising his unborn child was the best choice for everyone involved.

Deacon hadn’t counted on Charmer’s wild, unpredictable nature rearing its head and throwing a wrench in his plan.

_You’re really surprised?_

He downs a gulp of the stinging brew, sighing at the burn down his throat. She’s clinging to him like a drowning man to a bit of flotsam in a storm, proclaiming louder than she ever has how much she loves him. Deacon isn’t certain he believes her, even after all this time.

And Shaun, dear enough to be his own son, followed right along after his mother, screaming with one breath he loves him, and yelling at him for being stupid as hell with another. He doesn’t necessarily think he’s wrong; Deacon is pretty stupid. He tips the bottle up, gulping down another drink and relishing the pain it brings.

He was _woefully_ unprepared for this.

He clenches his eyes shut. He fucked up, and it’s probably the worst fuck up he’s had in decades. It isn’t worse than the shit with the Claws, not by a long shot, but damn if it isn’t just right behind it. No doubt about that. Recalling the torment on Charmer’s face when he’d attempted to relinquish his claim on their child, Shaun’s venom when he told the boy he didn’t need him anymore… He takes a long gulp from his bottle to try and wash away the gaping ache in his chest.

It doesn’t help, but Deacon never actually expected it to. He’s well aware that alcohol doesn’t do anything but bring hazy oblivion. The blackout almost makes the hangover worth it.

He rolls the bottle idly in his hands, its label long since peeled away. He doesn’t understand why she still wants him when Nate is here.

Their talk of her nightmares so long ago, the utter anguish in her eyes when she’d spoken of her Nate and the grief she never quite lost still haunts him. He recalls the aching want her face carried in the Vault as she stared into her husband’s tomb. Charmer still loved him, after all this time. He tries not to begrudge her that. After all, Barbara is still…

Deacon always found it in poor taste to be jealous of a dead man, but the curl of it still sat heavy in his chest. And now… now that the man _isn’t_ dead…

The press of the bottle to his lips is his dearest friend, smoothing the shards of pain in his heart to something near bearable.

Allowing himself to care for Charmer – to _love_ her – was a recipe for disaster straight from the start. He _knew_ that. He nearly killed himself running away from her–

 _A_ _nd maybe it would have been better if you_ _had_ _actually succeeded._

Another stinging gulp to numb.

_Coward._

Charmer has always been something of a tsunami, and he was swept away in her tides. Fuck him, he _wanted_ her – _still_ _wants her_ – and for a long time, he thought he could keep her. That the little family they made was real and truly his. That he wasn’t just a placeholder until the real thing came along. Came _back._

With the way she’s acting now, he could almost get his hopes up, could almost _believe_ he might not end up with nothing at the end of this, but he doesn’t _dare_. Charmer will eventually wake up from her delusions and realize Deacon really was nothing more than a distraction, one she no longer needs now that her husband is here. He’s a pretty shoddy replacement for her decorated hero soldier, anyway.

“You’re one lucky bastard,” he murmurs, raising his bottle to the unconscious man before taking another long swallow. The bottle is well over half gone now, but Deacon still feels too acutely to stop.

Setting the bottle down on the floor with a heavy clunk, Deacon wearily rubs his face before dropping his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even really know why he’s here. Charmer’s husband is nothing to him – _nothing but pain –_ and he truly wants nothing at all from the man.

If Deacon were being honest with himself, sitting here and watching Charmer’s husband sleep is a penance for all the agony he’s caused her, for all the horrible shit he’s done that she doesn’t even know, and he can never tell her.

But Deacon is a liar, even to himself.

He picks up the bottle again and drains it, wiping away the bit that dribbles from the corners of his mouth. It slides from his hands, clattering to the floor. Deacon’s surprised the damn thing didn’t shatter at his feet. Taking a shaky breath, he attempts to stand, but his body is suddenly heavy and uncoordinated, so he just drops back down and sits there.

The man in the bed’s eyes blink open. Deacon blinks as well, not trusting his own. Once. Twice. Squints. “Holy shit,” he manages with a tongue made of lead, and her husband’s attention is on him in a flash, seeing right through him.  _To the core, and it's_ rotten. _You're rotten._

He actually looks at Deacon in _concern_ , and that’s just too fucking much right now. He shatters into pieces, like Charmer’s beer bottle all those years ago, cackles until it makes his stomach heave angrily against his liquid feast. He does manage to make it to the garbage can before he retches, and that just makes him feel even worse. He staggers away, down the hall past a very alarmed and worried Curie, before collapsing beside Charmer’s bed. His vision wobbles, dimming at the edges as he stares at her beautiful face.

 _I love you. God, I love you so much I can't_ breathe. _I_  -

He reaches for her – his anchor in the squall of his sorrows – swallowing down everything he longs to tell her as his world fades to black.

If he’s lucky, maybe he won’t ever wake up. It really would be better for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. Here's the promised summary for those who chose to skip this chapter:
> 
> Basically, Deacon slips away from Danse, who is watching him for Julia while she's on bed rest in the clinic. He goes to the clinic where he drinks himself nearly to death while reflecting on all the shit that's going on. He feels like a placeholder for Nate, who will very soon be awake, and that he doesn't deserve Julia or the life they've built. Just a lot of wallowing and self-loathing. Nate wakes briefly, and that sends him spinning. He passes out at Julia's side.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences. Deacon tries to avoid pesky things like that.
> 
> Deacon PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I was going to wait to publish this chapter for a bit, but well, I'm terribly impatient.
> 
> So, here you go! 
> 
> Not really much to say here, other than I hope you enjoy, and we're getting closer to Nate waking up. So, yay?!
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated as always.
> 
> And I know I don't say it enough, but I love y'all. <3

Deacon groans when he wakes, pain a vivid reminder that he’s still breathing. It blares behind his eyes, pinpricks of agony he’s all too familiar with. Cracking open his eyes, it’s glaringly apparent that someone’s taken off his sunglasses – or maybe he did, who knows? – and the light is blinding. Reaching up to shield his gaze, Deacon realizes there’s an IV drip in his wrist, and he sighs.

He _really_ overdid it this time.

“You… you’re _awake_ ,” a quivering voice says by his side, too close to be from the adjacent bed. Charmer is sitting there, her fingers threaded through his, and she looks so goddamned relieved that it makes him feel vaguely ill. Her eyes soften, tears threatening to fall. “I’m so glad. I thought…” she drifts off, glancing away, “thought I’d lost you.”

_Yeah, well, not for lack of trying._

“Aww, c’mon, Charmer. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve never been better,” he manages, though his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, and his head isn’t much better. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

She sighs brokenly, irritation clear in her eyes. At least he managed to get rid of that unending sorrow lingering on her face. “You make it _so_ difficult sometimes, I swear.”

“Huh?” He fights the urge to tell her to make sense.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “To not worry about you. Who the hell thinks it’s a good idea to drink a whole fucking bottle of that horrible swill, anyway?! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Charmer screaming at him is not helping his head _at all._ He winces, clenching his eyes shut. “Why do you care?” he hears himself ask and instantly regrets it.

 _Great job, Deacon._ _Might as well go out and piss off a_ _pack_ _of_ _Deathclaw_ _s_ _while you’re at it._

Her eyes grow hard, fire flaring in their depths. Her grip on his hand hurts like hell. “Because I _love you,_ _asshole – ah!”_ She releases him, hands flying to her stomach with a grimace.

He reaches for her before he can think to stop himself, but she flinches away.

Deacon can’t help but see that as the beginning of the end. _See? You were right._

“It’s fine. Baby’s just… really fussy today,” she manages, face twisted in pain. Taking a few deep breaths, Charmer manages to regain control of herself. She pins him with her sharp gaze. “Did you think I was just going to _stop?”_

Deacon stares at her for a few moments, curling his hands in his lap to keep from reaching for her. “Kinda figured you might.”

Swallowing heavily, Charmer wipes at her eyes. “Well, stop. I know trust has never been your thing, but please just try to believe me. My feelings aren’t just a switch I can turn off, and even if they _were_ I wouldn’t. I love you, Ryan,” she breathes, the words barely reaching his ears, “and I will tell you everyday until you believe it.”

“I…” _Love you, too_ are words he can’t quite say, no matter how he tries. But he does love her. So much it destroys him. Instead, he brushes his fingers against her wrist, and focuses on breathing. In and out. Repeat until he can’t bear to anymore. “Where’s Shaun?”

Julia frowns, wetting her lips. “I sent him to Duncan’s. He needed to get out. Being here all the time was starting to get to him.”

“He actually went?”

“Danse can be very persuasive,” she replies wryly, and that just makes his heart drop.

Danse. Damn. He forgot about the good ole tin can.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drug my friends, by the way,” Charmer says sternly.

“Yeah, uh,” Deacon can’t figure out exactly what to say. “Sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” she simply says. A glass of water and two small pills are pressed into his hand a moment later. “Take these and drink,” Charmer urges gently with devastatingly kind eyes.

He obeys, and some of the cotton between his ears fades. Deacon stares into the empty glass, wishing it held any answers. “Does he hate me?”

Her brows furrow. “Who? Danse?”

He shakes his head, unable to stop the tremor that rolls down his arms. “Shaun.” His voice breaks around the word, and he hates it.

“Oh.” Charmer’s gaze is so sad it burns. “Oh, _no_. He doesn’t hate you at all. Shaun’s been worried sick about you. He’s been keeping a vigil by your bedside for days. He was so afraid you’d never wake up.” She doesn’t say it, but she was worried about that, too. “The only reason he left is because Curie assured him you were going to be okay.”

“It was that bad?” Did she say _days?_

“You’ve been just this side of dead for nearly a week,” she whispers, voice breaking along the words. Her eyes slip closed wearily. Deacon finally notices the bags beneath them and cringes. “I thought I was going to lose you again.”

Tears finally start slipping down her cheeks, and he hesitantly brushes them away. He always did hate seeing her cry, but it seems to be the only thing he can manage to do anymore. “I’m sorry.” He almost says her name, but he can’t quite manage.

“You can’t die,” she sobs, leaning into his touch. “No matter what happens, you _can’t._ _Promise me._ ”

It isn’t a promise he can give her. Deacon glances away, staring at the needle in his arm, a testament to his own recklessness. Even so, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do something like this again. Oblivion is a siren’s song he fears he won’t be able to resist.

Charmer opens her mouth, but another voice cuts her off. “Daddy?”

Shaun stands in the doorway, eyes wide and bright with wetness. His lips tremble as he steps toward him. Duncan and his father are a step behind him, and Deacon has to fight the urge to _hide._

He rushes to his bedside, reaching out to hug him, but he stops just shy.

Deacon manages a smile, feeling unbearably naked without his sunglasses, but they’re nowhere to be found. “Hey, buddy.” Swallowing, he meekly opens his arms, and that’s all the encouragement Shaun needs, burying his face in his chest.

“You’re so _stupid_ , Dad,” he murmurs, clinging to him like a little boy. _His little boy._

“I know,” Deacon whispers, hesitantly petting Shaun’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Duncan wanders over, standing a few feet back from Shaun, eyes hesitant. “Are you really okay, Deacon?”

Deacon looks up at the boy, surprised to see him nearly in tears as well. He nods. “Yeah. I’m… gonna be alright.”

MacCready lingers in the doorway, uncertainty plain on his face. The younger man glances at Deacon, studying him with a fair bit of discretion. He must have been worse than he thought if _MacCready_ of all people looks so damned relieved that he’s awake.

Charmer looks his way and nods, before leaning over to Deacon. “I’m going to give you and Shaun some time to catch up, alright? Just… talk to him, okay? I’ll be back.” She squeezes his arm, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m really glad you’re alright,” she murmurs wetly.

He nods, watching her stand unsteadily and waddle over to MacCready. Charmer must be nearly ready to give birth, he thinks guiltily, and here he is acting a damned fool.

They murmur quietly with one another for a moment, MacCready’s eyes flicking over to him more than once, and the pair disappear down the hallway toward her husband’s room.

Deacon tries to erase the memory of her tear-streaked face from his mind as he watches her go.

Shaun’s sobs drag him back to the moment, and Deacon’s arms squeeze him tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Blue eyes cut up toward him, heartbroken. “I was so scared! You _almost_ died! And I – I said such horrible things to you.” Shaun’s voice breaks against a sob, hands grasping for him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. _I didn’t mean it. Daddy, please, you can’t go.”_

It’s getting hard to breathe in the face of Shaun’s sorrow. He did this. He hurt him. Shaun was always such a happy kid, bright and kind and caring, but now. Now, he’s broken, and Deacon has no idea how to put him back together. He can’t even manage to put himself back together.

He pets Shaun’s auburn hair with a hand that won’t stop shaking. “I’m not going anywhere, squirt.”

“You promise?” He looks up at him, looking so damned _young._

Staring into Shaun’s eyes, so full of fucking hope that a sorry ass like him would stay, Deacon’s resolve shatters. He closes his eyes and pulls his boy close. “I promise, Shaun. I promise I won’t leave you ever again.”

“You aren’t lying, are you?” he asks, hiccuping.

“No. No, I’m not,” he replies vehemently, and Deacon realizes a heartbeat later that it’s actually the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate wakes up. Julia isn't ready for this.
> 
> Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!
> 
> Nate is awake! It's what everyone's been waiting for, right?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and appreciated.

“Are you sure it’s okay to leave them like that?” Bobby asks as they wander down the hall.

Julia glances over her shoulder at the trio. Her baby boy is clinging to Deacon like he might disappear if he doesn’t hang on. Frankly, Julia isn’t sure he won’t. “It will be fine. Shaun won’t let Deacon do anything stupid. Don’t think Duncan would, either.”

Bobby nods, though he still looks doubtful. “Think he’ll be alright?”

She sighs, opening the door to Nate’s room and stepping inside. “I really have no idea. As long as we can keep him breathing, the rest can be fixed with time.” She winces when the baby kicks straight up into her diaphragm. She waves away Bobby’s worry. “I’m fine.”

He sighs, relaxing a little as he watches her. “I’ll help any way I can, Julia. I hope you know that.”

“I do, and thank you.” Idly, she rubs her belly, and it seems to sooth her baby enough to stop wiggling around so much.

The pair drop into chairs at the bedside. She’s glad to be off her feet. Even short distances now make them ache.

“So,” Bobby murmurs, staring dubiously at the man in bed. “That’s him?”

Julia frowns at his tone but nods all the same. “Yeah, that’s my hus – my Nate.”

He takes her hand and squeezes. The corners of his lips are turned up, but she wouldn’t ever call that expression a smile. “It’s… pretty incredible, Julia.”

She breathes a laugh. “Yeah.” _That’s one way o_ _f_ _putting it._ “Curie says he should wake soon.”

No matter what she tells herself, she isn’t ready for that. She’ll never be ready. With Deacon acting like a complete idiot – _she still can’t quite believe just how close he came to_ dying – and the baby likely mere days from being born, Julia is completely at her wits end. Something has to give and soon, otherwise she might really lose her mind. She's not entirely sure she hasn't already.

“That’s good, right?” Dropping her hand, he fidgets in his chair like a little boy. His eyes keep wandering over to her. “What are you going to do?”

Julia freezes. That is the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Things can’t sit like this forever, but that doesn’t mean she has any idea how to proceed. This is a minefield, and Julia is blindfolded in the dark. If she isn’t careful, someone might really end up dead, especially considering Deacon's recent actions. “I really don’t know, Bobby.”

Bobby opens his mouth to respond, but the man in the bed stirs with a groan, cutting him off. His voice is hoarse and gravelly, words clumsy and thick when he speaks. “Ugh, B-Bobby’s here?”

Julia’s transfixed as bleary blue eyes open, blinking in the morning light. “Jules, where’s… he?”

Bobby – not the _right_ one – just stares wide-eyed, gaze darting between the two. “Uh…”

She takes her husband’s groping hand, squeezing gently. Taking a deep breath, her voice sounds somewhat steady. “Hon, your brother isn’t here.”

“But,” he argues, his other hand coming up to rub at his forehead. He grimaces. “Heard you say his name.”

“Sweetheart,” it’s hard to say that word to him, especially when Deacon is just down the hall, “he’s a different Bobby. My friend. Your –” she chokes, swallowing down the sudden wash of pain at what she’s about to say, “your brother is gone.”

“G-gone? You mean...” his eyes widen, moisture leaking from the corners.

Julia squeezes his hand tight. “Yes, Nate.”

Nate grimaces, the myriad of scarred skin pulled taut as his soldier face drops down to push it down and compartmentalize it for later. Julia envies his ability to do that so easily. She still can’t, even now.

His gaze drifts to Bobby, who slumps his shoulders, shying away. “Name’s Robert MacCready. Call me RJ.” He glances to Julia, and mouths _you, too._

Her husband still seems confused, staring at Bobby – _RJ –_ like his head’s on wrong or something. “Oh,” he replies dumbly, glancing away. “Where are we?”

“Sanctuary.” Julia suddenly has a hard time talking, her tongue uncooperative.

“W-what happened?” he chokes a little, taking in the dilapidation surrounding them. She can see the instant her realizes something is very wrong in the way his eyes widen slightly and the grip on her hand tightens. “Where is Shaun? Where is our son?”

RJ stands suddenly, causing his chair to clang noisily against the floor as he nearly upends it. Nate stares sudden daggers, the look in his eyes that of a man searching for the enemy. An enemy that could be around any corner, lingering in even the smallest shadow. He relaxes slightly when he realizes it’s only a chair.

“Sorry,” he apologizes meekly, yanking down the brim of his hat. “I’m gonna...” he hikes his thumb toward the door, “I’m gonna go. It was nice meeting you. Bye, Julia.” Like a gust of wind, he’s gone, leaving her alone with the man she thought was gone forever.

Nate turns back to her once he tires of staring after him. “Where is Shaun?” he asks, more insistently.

She sighs, pressing fingers against her brow. She wishes more than anything this is a conversation she could avoid. “Shaun is fine. He’s here.” Better a lie than the horrible truth. Nate isn’t ready for that yet, and frankly, Julia isn’t ready to tell him. She's not sure she’ll ever be ready. “I brought him home. What do you remember?”

Nate’s face scrunches up, distorting the scars decorating it. Julia still isn’t quite used to them, even though they are centuries old now. He was going to have reconstructive surgery to correct them, but the Bombs had other ideas. “The Bombs were… we were running to the Vault. They _froze_ us.” His eyes widen at that, fear shimmering behind them. “There were people. They took Shaun. I… was shot.” He gingerly reaches up, touching his chest.

Julia pushes away the memory of that, the pain curled deep in her heart for Nate’s _death._ That particular hurt isn’t exactly valid anymore. “Hon, we were asleep for a very long time. The year is 2292.”

“Twenty-two – _no_.” He stills. “Two _hundred_ years? It’s not… not possible.”

“I’m sorry, but it is,” she says, squeezing his hand.

“Everyone we knew… they’re gone?”

“Yes, Nate.” She nods, unwilling to think too terribly much about it herself. Right now, she wishes more than anything to have her mother here to hold her and tell her it will all be okay. Or, hell, she'd even take just knowing what happened to her at this point.

Julia watches as Nate pushes that away for later as well. Calm reclaims him as he thinks through everything she’s said. His brow furrows, his other hand resting on top of hers as he stares at the ceiling. “Shaun is really safe? How? We haven’t been awake long. How could you…?”

Julia swallows down the lump in her throat and forces herself to continue. “I’ve… been awake for over four years.”

“Then, why did you leave m –?!” He finally looks at her properly and stops dead. His eyes widen at her prominent stomach; his hands tremble. “Julia, you’re _pregnant?”_ His voice cracks along the words, driving poisoned daggers deep into her chest. “Why are you –?”

Biting her lip, she pushes back the sorrow threatening to break behind her eyes and slowly pulls away from him. “Honey, I… I left you in the Vault because I thought you were _dead.”_

He freezes, raw hurt flashing in his eyes as he looks at her. “Dead? You didn’t _think_ to check?!” he snaps.

Julia flinches but doesn’t dare defend herself. It’s the truth. She _didn’t_ check because all she could see was the muzzle flash and how Nate went still, and she couldn’t relive that again. She couldn’t face that ugly truth. “I’m sorry.”

Nate softens at that, anger slipping away like an errant breeze. He palms her cheek, and Julia leans into the touch. Regardless of everything that’s happened, she truly has missed him very much. “Whose is it?” he asks, stroking her skin with a calloused thumb. “Was it that man from before? Bob – RJ?”

_Please, not this. Not now._

“No, he really is just a friend. I helped get a cure for his son, Duncan’s, disease while I was looking for Shaun.” Julia shifts away from him and stares at her hands, the ring still on her finger, her swollen middle. “I don’t… I can’t do this right now.”

Nate frowns, hand dropping away as he stares at her. When he notices the ring he placed on her finger still there, his eyes sadden considerably. He sighs softly but doesn’t press further. “How far along?”

She flinches like the words burn. “About nine months now.”

“So, any day, huh?” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. She shies away from the lingering shock on his face, and how it reminds her of the look he had when she first told him she was pregnant with Shaun. That particular memory stings.

Julia nods, absently scratching at a rip in her pants. _You can do this. Just breathe._ _This is Nate. He loves you. It’s okay._

She almost believes it.

“Are you…” he pauses, wets his lips. “Are you okay? It isn’t… like Shaun, is it?”

She watches as the memory flickers behind his eyes. The pain, the blood, the _fear_. “I’m alright. Outside of a little undue stress, everything is fine. Curie, the doctor here, is confident I’ll come through just fine.” Absently, her hands press against her stomach, and her baby shifts.

Watching his shoulders sag in relief is a bittersweet lump tangling somewhere in her chest she isn’t sure will ever be unsnarled. “Good. That’s… great. I’m glad.” His gaze drifts away from her, toward the window at his bedside. He looks so immeasurably sad. “Do you –” His voice cracks. He coughs roughly, starts again. “Do you know what you’re having?”

Anyone observing them might think the conversation utterly normal, but it’s destroying her, bit by bit. Nate, like Deacon, feels so far away. Loneliness sits heavy in Julia’s chest, and she feels adrift in the seas of her sorrow. “No. We, ah, don’t have that kind of tech here, sadly. So,” she squeezes her eyes shut, “it’s going to be a surprise.”

Nate doesn’t look at her, hands knotting in the comforter. “I bet you still want a girl, don’t you? I remember you… said… about trying again. Before.”

The tremble in his voice is enough to break her, wetness finally slipping down her cheeks. “ _Yeah,_ ” she admits.

Her tone attracts his attention, and when he turns to her, his eyes soften. “Oh, _hon._ I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s okay. I’ve just… it's been a rough month.” _To put it mildly._ “Shaun really wants a brother.” Julia is proud of how little her voice shakes.

Nate looks confused at that, brows furrowing, and Julia suddenly realizes he has no idea their baby is a teenager now. “I guess he isn’t a baby anymore, is he?” He stares down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Dunno why I thought he would be.”

Julia reaches over and takes his closest hand. He glances up in surprise. “Hon, Shaun… he’s fourteen years old now.”

Her husband’s eyes bug, and it takes him a long time to speak. “What? H-how?”

The old scar along her ribs, courtesy of the Deathclaw she barely managed to kill in Concord so long ago, aches as she contemplates how best to lie to him. But she can’t back down now. She can’t tell him that their baby died a cancer-ridden old man – alone and brainwashed in nuclear hellfire – but not before he gave them a new start. “Time is… it doesn’t matter when you’re frozen. There was more of it between his kidnapping and my awakening than I thought. I was surprised, too.”

Nate nods weakly and is silent.

Julia looks away, twisting her ring idly. She isn’t sure how to fill the silence, an uncomfortable thing that wriggles beneath her skin like poison. It never used to be like this with Nate. She takes a deep breath. “Deacon.”

His blue eyes snap up to her face, and she has a hard time remembering they don’t belong to her beloved liar. “What’s a church deacon got to do with anything?”

Her hand alights on her tummy, rubbing in a soothing motion. _You can do this._ “My baby’s father. His name is Deacon,” Ryan is a secret she will take to her grave, “You wanted to know, right?”

He studies her for a moment before nodding hesitantly.

It’s all the encouragement she needs. Nate deserves to hear this, anyway. “He’s… a big reason why I was able to rescue Shaun at all.” She can’t stop fidgeting, and her heart feels like it’s trying to hammer out of her chest. “Deacon is the one who noticed you were alive. He woke you up. Saved your life.”

Her husband stares, surprise tracing up the lines of his face. “Wait. So,” Nate wets his lips anxiously, “you’re telling me your _lover_ is the one who saved me? He knew who I was, right?”

Julia flinches, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She nods. “ _Of course_ he knew who you were. I never kept you a secret, Nate! What? Did you think I just shrugged my shoulders, oh well, and happily skipped off to fuck the first man I _met?!_ What do you take me for?”

He grimaces, and Julia isn’t sure if it’s over what she said or the fact she cursed. It was quite the rarity before the Bombs.

“Jules, I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot to take in.” Nate shrugs, resting a hand on her knee. It’s so warm it burns. “It… feels like yesterday that we stepped into the Vault, and now I’m awake, it’s two hundred years later, and you’ve moved on without me.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind, I _didn’t_.”

“Hey,” he calls out, managing to sit himself up in bed without too much difficulty. He pulls her from the chair and cradles her against him. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. If I’d just _checked_ before I left…”

“That was unfair. Unless you knew field triage and didn’t tell me, I would have bled out on the floor.” He brushes fingers against his now mostly healed wound, still bandaged tight. “I was shot, Jules. You can’t just slap a bandage on it and go about your business.”

That sends a jolt through her. It wasn’t something she’d actually considered before. She recalls those moments right after she woke: the disorientation, the fire in her lungs as she breathed, the horror of what happened washing over her. She had been so _soft,_ so new. There would have been no way she could have done a thing for him besides watch him die a second time.

Even so, she _should_ have looked. Should have come back to check sooner.

“Stop trying to make me feel better, you lug,” she grumbles, suddenly exhausted.

He chuckles low, its rumble a frisson of bittersweet joy. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

She can’t bring herself to answer that.

He pets her hair lovingly, and Julia can’t help the shame that wells inside her. She missed this so much, but she can’t bear the thought of destroying the life she has now – _destroying Deacon –_ to reclaim the one she lost. She still loves Nate deeply, but she loves Deacon just as much. Maybe more. She honestly doesn’t know. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs again. “I don’t… know what to do anymore.”

Nate’s fingers stop, and he tenses slightly before pressing a kiss to her temple. “You love him, don’t you?”

That causes an ugly sob to tear its way up her throat. She can’t form any words, but she does nod into his shoulder.

Her husband is quiet for a time, but he continues stroking her hair. His words are hesitant, brittle, when he finally does speak. “Jules, baby, I love you, and I won’t begrudge any decision you make.”

That freezes her blood, and she cranes her head back to look at him. “N-Nate? I –”

He gently coaxes her head back against his shoulder, quietly shushing her. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.” Like promises are worth any more than pain.

He holds her until she stops sobbing; Julia couldn’t even guess how long. She clings to him, listening to the rhythmic thud of his heart beating, a heart that she had long believed would never do so again. Nate is just one of many gifts Deacon has given her, but she still doesn’t understand why. Why he would give her back the one thing that could take her away aside from death. Any answer she could fathom makes her feel sick.

“Tell me about him?” he asks softly, rubbing her back.

Julia flinches, her heart suddenly in her throat. “Why?”

Nate hums softly, closing his eyes. “Is it wrong of me to be curious about the man that stole my wife’s heart?”

Something inside Julia twists sharply, and she exhales shakily. He’d meant it as a joke, but still. “ _Nate._ ”

“Please?” he begs, and she can hear the puppy dog eyes in his tone. “There aren’t many people who would save me like that, no matter how noble. He’s gotta be an interesting guy.”

“I don’t know if I can right now,” she admits honestly. Talking candidly about Deacon to Nate just feels… wrong.

“Julia, I promise I’m not angry with you or him. I know it’s hard, but please.” His voice is tender, in the same heartrending manner it was in his holotape when he told her _I love you_ that final time, and it shatters her utterly.

“Okay,” Julia gasps and closes her eyes, absently linking her fingers with his. She misses Deacon so much, and talking about him only makes the sensation grow. It seems she can never be satisfied, her own heart a mystery. But Nate deserves to know. It’s the least she can do. “Okay.”

It takes her longer than she wants to admit to begin, but Nate waits patiently, rubbing her back slowly.

“Deacon’s… I wouldn’t – Without him, I would be dead. He made sure I got home. That I remembered I had a reason to get up every morning, even if it was only to get him to stop pestering me. He tells terrible jokes,” she says, cutting her eyes over to him, “a lot like someone _else_ I know.” She doesn’t mention that comparison was part of the reason she started liking Deacon so much.

Her sweet husband chuckles at that. “Like him already.”

Julia can’t tell if he’s being serious or not and swallows down a wave of anxiety at that. “Deacon acts like a careless goofball, but he always notices everything. Always. He’s… a wonderful man,” – _not that he’d ever believe it_ _– “_ and extremely well read. I know you haven’t been out there, Nate, but that’s a very lofty feat. Most people consider books little better than kindling now. He’s completely fascinated with everything Old World – everything our time.”

“You, praising someone’s studiousness? Must be impressive.” Nate nods, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It’s so comforting in its familiarity and eases the tension wracking her muscles. “How’d you meet?”

“He was my partner in the Railroad. They… made it possible for me rescue Shaun. It’s a really long story that I promise to tell you later, but the short of it is they worked to free Synths from slavery from the Institute.”

“Synths? The Institute?”

“It was a scientific organization based underground that claimed they were the only hope for mankind’s future, but with no ethical core. They toyed with people’s lives, kidnapped and tortured them for information before killing them or worse. They created Synths. Synthetic people.” Julia says, resisting the impulse to tell Nate their little boy _is_ one. “That’s why Shaun was taken. The Institute needed undamaged DNA to use to make them human as possible.”

“That’s…” Nate’s voice is horrified.

“I destroyed them,” she reassures him, clutching his arm. “They can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Good.” Her husband relaxes a little, at that. “These… Synths. They’re just like people?”

Julia nods. “Yes. It’s nearly impossible to tell the difference. It was wrong what the Institute did, and they didn’t even see it. Synths were little more than tools to them, like a Mr. Handy, even though they were honest to God flesh and blood with their own thoughts and beliefs. We have a healthy population of Synths who live here in Sanctuary, if you want to meet them.”

“Later.” Nate nods hesitantly. “So, you met in this Railroad?”

“Yeah, he was their intel guy. I think I was the first partner he ever had.” Julia recalls just how off he’d been those first few weeks. The surprise that flickered across his face the first time she saved him from a hostile on his six. The slow creep into amicability and camaraderie. The easy slide after into friendship, and then something more. “Not sure why he wanted to team up with me in the first place.”

“C’mon, honey. That’s easy. You were the ultimate Old World bobble. How could he resist?” he teases softly. His mirth dies when she doesn’t respond to it. “It musta been tough.”

“At first,” Julia responds, playing with the corner of the blanket. “But, he was good at keeping me distracted from all the shit I had on my plate. It was nice, being reminded I could laugh, and that despite it all, I was alive.”

Nate squeezes her suddenly, and she squeaks in an undignified manner. “He sounds… I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Julia nods as guilt wells up inside her. Those long months had been so much easier with company. Without her friends, she wouldn’t be here, and she tries desperately to see the good in that.

“Can I see Shaun?” he asks quietly, still holding her.

“Of course you can. I’ll go get him.” She moves to stand, but Nate catches her hand. Julia glances back at him curiously. “Nate?”

“Does he even want to see me?”

Julia finds herself just staring, imagining another man with blue eyes carrying that nearly identical expression when he asked if Shaun hated him. “Of course he does. I’ll be right back.” She gently extracts herself from his arms and slips out the door.

Shaun and Deacon are talking low when she makes her way back to Deacon’s bedside. Bobb – RJ – and Duncan are both nowhere to be found. Both look up at her with worried eyes. When she tries to meet his gaze, Deacon looks away. Damn Bobby for telling them.

“Mom?”

She smiles at him. “Your da –” she stops herself, but not before Deacon can grimace, “Nate wants to see you, sweetie. Are you up for it?”

Her son stares at Deacon before nodding slowly. Murmuring something she can’t hear, he slips away from the older man. “I want you with me, Mom,” he says, voice dropping low, “But you should talk to Dad first. I’ll wait.”

Julia nods with trepidation and pads over to Deacon’s side. He swallows, looking as haggard as he did that first day after he near drank himself to death. He won’t meet her eyes. “So, Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake, eh?”

His voice breaks her heart. “Yeah, seems so.” Julia perches herself on the edge of his bed and brushes her fingers along his jawline. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

She huffs softly. “Liar.”

He clenches his eyes closed. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Her voice drops, mindful of Shaun just across the room. “Ryan, I love you so much.”

Deacon flinches like she slapped him. “Still feeding me that one, Charmer?”

The tightness in Julia’s chest ratchets higher. “I’m not lying to you. Is it really so hard to believe I love you?”

The man in the bed sighs heavily and leans against her shoulder. “Some days, yeah.”

Julia maneuvers herself so she can hug him and is quite pleased when he doesn’t pull away. She presses a kiss to his brow. “Well, it isn’t a lie.” Another kiss, this time to his cheek. She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, fingers sliding down his cheek. “I really will tell you everyday.”

His blue eyes are so bright, and something like a flicker of hope bursts to life inside their depths as he studies her face. “I’ll hold you to it.”

She slowly closes the distance between them, giving him a long, lingering kiss that makes Shaun gag a little. “I love you, and I promise I’ll come back to you,” she murmurs before rising.

His eyes follow them until they’re gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun speaks to the father he's never met.
> 
> Shaun PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. 
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I'm having a hard time looking at it. For clarity's sake, Shaun thinks of Nate as 'father' and Deacon is 'dad,' in case anyone gets confused.
> 
> Just a warning, I think updates are probably going to slow down. Real life is just getting a little hectic, and it's getting harder to sit down and write like I want to.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has followed along with me. You have no idea how much you mean to me. <3

When Mom told him that his real dad – _his father –_ wasn’t dead, Shaun felt his heart skip a beat, his entirety suddenly fluttering. He’d always wondered what it would be like to meet him, to see the other half that made him, but now…

His heart clangs loudly in his chest as he stands in front of the door to his father’s room. Mom is there, a welcome presence just behind him. Shaun knows this isn’t easy for her, either. It can’t possibly be, having someone you loved so much but was gone come back so suddenly. And then there’s Deacon. Dad.

Shaun swallows the lump in his throat, pushing back the image of pale skin and shallow breath, bloodshot eyes unseeing, hands clawing. Shattered bits of sunglasses scattered across the floor. Mom screaming in Danse’s arms as he pulls her away. The stink of something Shaun couldn't place, stale and bitter.

All he could do is _stare._ At Curie’s hands, shaking in the sterile light as she works. At his teacher, his friend, who could make Mom smile in that special sort of way, the man who came _back and loved him like the son he never had_. _His Dad._

_Dying._

And Shaun was little more than helpless.

“Shaun?” Mom asks, voice hesitant as she touches his shoulder.

He glances at her, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders droop. He feels that helplessness well up again inside him. “Sorry, Mom.” Shaun smiles at her and slowly opens the door.

The man in the bed is younger than he imagined, with scars tracing up one side of his face. His blue eyes, so like his own, are bright when he turns toward Shaun. His face splits in a timid grin. “Hi, Shaun,” said with a trembling tenor.

He isn’t anything like what Shaun imagined.

“Hi,” he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets to hide the way they shake. Dad always said he wore the world on his face. Shaun hadn’t understood why that was so bad until now. Never understood Dad's urge to slip into the shadows, to hide.

Mom is right behind him, and he lets her herd him into one of the chairs at his father’s bedside. “Sweetie, this is Nate, your real dad.” She addresses the man in the bed. “Nate, this is Shaun, our baby.”

His father’s gaze flickers away, staring at his hands. “You’ve gotten so big.” His voice is shaky, trembling like a crumbling foundation.

Shaun really doesn’t know what to say to that. He smiles, but it feels wrong on his face. He doesn’t know how to fix it. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

Mom shifts at his side, clearly distressed. Shaun takes her hand; it’s easier to hold steady if he’s holding hers. “Is there anything you’d like to ask your father, Shaun?”

He winces. Not really. He doesn’t know the man and has only vague knowledge beyond the fact that he’s his father. “What’s it like… being back?”

His father’s face shifts, the grimace morphing his damaged skin into something that Shaun finds fascinating. “It’s… different,” he says with a small smile. Looking at him, Shaun thinks he’s too pale. _Like Dad,_ _somewhere between life and death_ _in that hospital bed and all he could do is watch._ “It’ll definitely take some getting used to.”

Shaun nods. “It was hard for me, too, when I left the Institute. The surface is a lot different. Dirtier. It was nice having Mom around, though. And Da – Deacon has been great, too.”

The older man’s adam’s apple bobs roughly as he swallows. “I’m sorry, son,” he manages finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

Shaun’s heart leaps into his throat. Mom’s hand jerks in his grip, and Shaun leaps over to hug him before he even knows what he’s doing. “It’s okay. I know you did everything you could to save me. Mom told me about how much you loved me.”

His father’s arms hesitantly wrap around him and squeeze so tightly Shaun has trouble breathing, but he doesn’t mind. His arms are warm and kind, just like he always imagined they’d be. He says nothing as he holds him, breath trembling against the nap of Shaun’s neck.

Shaun wonders how he got lucky enough to have two dads and knows that keeping them both would be just about the best thing ever. Now, he just has to make sure Dad, his father, and Mom all know that, too. Hopefully, his father won’t be so stubborn.

“I love you,” he whispers gently, and the arms holding him jolt at that.

“I love you, too, buddy. So, _so_ much.” His tone dances like notes on the old guitar Sturges managed to fix up, and Shaun squeezes tighter before letting go.

His father’s gaze wanders across his face in awe, cupping his cheek with a smile. Shaun thinks guiltily of Dad, alone in his bed, lost and separated from his family. Dad really would like his father a lot, if he’d just give him a chance. Shaun isn’t sure why he believes that, but he does. More than anything.

Mom settles on the bed behind him, pets his hair slowly. She’s smiling when Shaun turns toward her, but there’s something sad about it. “I’m glad you’re getting along.”

“Why wouldn’t we, Mom? He’s my father.”

The older man’s breath hitches a little at that, hand tracing down the line of Shaun’s arm where he takes his hand. “You’re a great kid, Shaun.”

“Just wait until you’re out of bed. I’ll show you my workstation. I tinker with all kinds of things. Oh, and I’ll have to show you all the books Dad gave me. They’re really great.”

His father’s face falls, and it takes Shaun a moment to realize why. “D-dad?” His eyes glance behind him, to Mom. “You mean Deacon?”

Shaun sobers, nodding. He rubs the back of his neck, and his face feels like it’s on fire. “Yeah. With the new baby… he, uh, he said it was okay if I called him Dad, too.”

Behind him, Mom makes a soft sound that Shaun recognizes as a sob. He spins around, wrapping her in a hug and pressing his face into the crook of her neck. A few moment’s later, he feels the weight of his father’s hand on his back. The movement of it is gentle. A comfort, even though Shaun feels he ought to be too old for that now.

“Is he a good Dad?”

Shaun nods, the childish urge to cry pressing against his eyes. It makes him feel like a baby. “He’s an awesome dad.”

His father frowns a little, hand slipping up to Shaun’s shoulder to spin him around gently. “Son, you know it’s okay, right? I don’t want you to feel guilty for loving him.” He tips Shaun’s chin up so he’ll look at him. “How about this? Why don’t you call me Nate?”

That makes Shaun’s eyes widen. “What? But you’re my –”

Nate smiles sadly at that, pinching his cheek a little to quiet him. “I haven’t been here, champ, and I know it’s gotta be weird calling a stranger ‘Dad,’ so don’t worry about it, okay? You call me Nate until you feel comfortable calling me something else.”

He can feel wetness creeping from the corners of his eyes, and he roughly brushes it away. “Okay. I can do that.” Mom takes one of his hands and squeezes. Shaun honestly forgot she was there for a moment.

“I’m here for you, buddy. Whatever you need.” Nate gives him a pleased half-grin. “It…” he stops, struggles with the words, “it's really great to see you.”

“Yeah,” Shaun agrees softly. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Nate's expression twists into something Shaun can only call bittersweet. "Me, too."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Deacon healed and as distant as ever, Julia drifts. Nate is there to catch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted this to be a chapter from Danse's PoV where he confronted Deacon for his previous terrible behavior. Sadly, Danse is apparently beyond my pay-grade, as his voice came out so utterly wrong I couldn't in good conscience post that mess. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome. :)

“Danse, _no_ ,” Julia snaps, frowning at the man. “You are not locking Deacon in a broken set of power armor. It’s just cruel.”

“He _drugged_ me, Julia!” Danse yells, hands balling into fists as he towers over her. “The man deserves to be punished for that.”

She fights the urge to scream, leaning into the former paladin’s face, hands planted on her hips. “I said _no._ What he did is wrong. I’m not disagreeing with you, but we do _not_ torture people.”

Danse pales a little at that, sitting back down in the chair across from her. “Regardless, there should be some form of punishment. Sanctuary does not need this kind of anarchy.”

Julia sighs, rubbing her belly. The baby has been shifting almost nonstop the past few days, and it’s grating on her already frazzled nerves. “I never said there wouldn’t be, just… not that.” Being inside a functioning suit of the stuff is bad enough; Julia doesn’t even want to think about being locked in a set that can’t _move._ The very thought of it makes her nauseous, and she wouldn’t allow that to be done to anyone.

Clearly disgruntled, Danse leans back in his seat with his arms crossed, a scowl etched across his face. “Then, what do you suggest?”

“We’ll put him on lock-down. There’s a small room not being used in the empty house two doors down from mine. Big enough for a bed. No windows and easily watched. He can stay there when Curie clears him,” Julia suggests. Deacon will hate it, but if it keeps him safe, she’s willing to face that ire. “Not forever. Just… however long it takes.” _Until I’m sure he isn’t going to die the second someone looks away._ “I’ve already talked to Preston. He’s willing to help you, Danse, if you still want to keep watch over him.”

“Of course,” he says immediately, hands clenching into fists. “I already failed you once, Julia. It won’t happen again.”

She leans over, squeezing his hand. “It isn’t like that. I know how he can be. Even I have a hard time handling him when he’s determined to do something. I don’t blame you at all.”

He smiles weakly at that. “While I appreciate that, I still failed my mission objective. I swear this time, I won’t.”

Julia knows this isn’t an argument she can win. “I trust you to keep him safe.” She winces as the baby kicks hard. Her poor diaphragm might never recover for all this abuse.

Danse’s brows pull together at her grimace. “Are you alright, soldier?”

Biting back the urge to remind him she isn’t a soldier, she merely nods. “Yeah. I think my little one is just about ready to be born. Getting stir-crazy.”

A wisp of a smile flashes across her friend's face at that, and he breathes a small laugh. “Like father, like child, I suppose. You should be resting. Why do you insist on being here, anyway?”

Julia can’t tell him it’s because she can’t stand being in that clinic bed one more moment, waffling between the two men in her life. That fear grips her every time she thinks of broken sunglasses and pale skin and ragged breaths under harsh clinic lights. That her heart is torn in two, love and duty waging war deep inside her. It's something she can barely think about, let alone speak aloud.

She loves Nate and has an obligation as his wife to return to his side, but Julia realizes just how much that would destroy her beloved spy as well. Deacon is already primed to self-destruct, with no end in sight. She can’t face that choice yet, and being here with Danse - even if they are arguing - is her way of fleeing, if only for a moment.

“Cut me some slack. Curie said it was fine as long as I don’t push myself,” Julia murmurs. “And sitting here talking to you is about as far from pushing myself as I can get.”

He nods an acknowledgment. “I still don’t know what you see in that man, Julia.”

“He’s a good man, Danse. One of the best.”

The former paladin doesn’t respond to that, and silence falls heavily between them.

Preston shows up a while later, and the three of them talk the logistics of taking care of Deacon. It’s exhausting, and Julia finds herself wrung dry by the time they’re finished. But he’ll be safe, and that is worth any amount of fatigue. She never wants to see that look on Shaun’s face again, that hopelessness as he watched the only Dad he’s known drifting aimlessly between life and death.

 

Curie gives Deacon a clean bill of health a few days later, and he’s escorted by Preston to his new quarters. They’re mostly barren, save for the bed, a dresser, and a few possessions Julia picked up for him. He doesn’t protest the confinement, at least openly, but she can tell that he’s itching to get away. She doesn't blame him; Julia certainly wouldn't be a fan of this sort of captivity, but it's for his own good. She keeps reminding herself of that as she watches him.

“How long am I in for?” he asks her softly, sitting down on the bed and glancing around.

Julia leans against the door frame. At least Danse isn’t hovering. Small blessings. “Not sure. I know it’s not great, but well, you _did_ drug Danse. Believe me, this is preferable to what he wanted to do.”

Deacon winces at that, turning his attention to the small box of possessions on the bed. Sorting through them, he starts, turning a curious gaze to Julia as he holds up an old Stealth Boy prototype. “My ever vigilant guard dog let this slip through?”

Julia regards the ancient piece of tech. This particular type was a rarity in her time and damn near one of a kind now. It’s one of the few possessions Deacon still has that belonged to his late wife, and Julia’ll be damned if she isn’t going to let him keep it. “I assured him it didn’t work. I thought… it’d be nice for you to have it with you. That’s all.”

He softens a little, grinning. She almost believes it. “Good ole Charmer, always thinking of me.”

Julia closes her eyes. He still refuses to say her name, even now. _Stubborn man._ Stepping toward him, she takes his free hand and squeezes. “I love you.”

Deacon freezes up at the contact, swallowing roughly as he sets the device down on the bed. He won’t look at her as his hand slips away from her grasp like it was never there at all. “You probably ought to get back to your husband. I’m fine. Besides," he gestures grandly around him, "I got all this unpacking to do. Go on, it’ll be boring.”

The rejection stings, but Julia steps back. Her relentless pushing isn’t helping to bring him around. Bludgeoning him with affection isn't going to fix anything. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, staring at the box as she leaves. “Later.”

Shaun stops her in the hall and gives her a small smile. “How’s Dad?”

Julia sighs, plastering on a smile she hopes is passable. “I bet he’d like to see you, sweetie.”

Her son studies her face, taking both her hands and squeezing them tightly. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure he’s okay. You head on back and get some rest.”

She leans in and presses a kiss to his brow. Shaun has been her rock these past few weeks, and she can never fully express her gratitude for that. “Okay, baby. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Stepping out into the streets of Sanctuary, Julia feels suddenly lost at sea, with no land in sight. In the past during times like these, Deacon would be the one she relied on. He always knew how to make her feel grounded, but now… Glancing back at the house, she sighs. Maybe she should go see Nate.

Curie greets her happily when she walks inside. “Julia. I’m so glad you’re back. Monsieur Nate has been walking around the clinic wondering when you would return.”

That surprises her. For the most part, Nate has been in bed due to his waned strength, but for him to be up and about now, he must be nearly healed. “So, he’s doing well, then?”

“Sure am,” a new voice answers, and when she turns, Nate is leaning in the opening of the hallway. The sickly pallor of his skin is gone, replaced by the healthy glow she remembers. He grins at her, slowly limping over and wrapping her up in a hug she doesn’t expect.

Slowly curling her arms around him, tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “That’s great.” Despite her efforts, her voice wobbles dangerously.

He squeezes her tighter as she tries desperately to reign herself in. The feat strikes her as nigh impossible. “Why don’t you let Curie check you over, sweetheart?”

Julia nods, allowing him to guide her over, and sits down on the bed as Curie begins her ministrations. Nate sits at her side, holding her hand. Clenching her eyes closed, Julia pushes away the sensation of just how wrong this is. Her husband shouldn’t be okay with this, shouldn’t be here supporting her. She _left_ him in that Vault and ran off with another man. Another man she can’t for the life of her let go, even as he is desperate to flee.

Gentle fingers brush wetness from her cheeks, and her eyes snap open. Nate smiles sadly, studying her with such an open, honest expression. It’s startling how easily she can read the concern there. “It’s okay, love,” he murmurs sweetly. “Everything will be fine.”

“Indeed,” Curie chirps, rolling down Julia’s shirt as she finishes. “You and your baby are doing splendidly. All this rest seems to have helped greatly.”

“That’s wonderful,” Nate replies when Julia can’t manage. She barely notices when Curie wanders off to give them privacy. Her husband stands, and it reminds her of just how large a man he is. Deacon, while relatively tall for a wastelander, is a fair bit shorter than Nate. It’s strange to her, suddenly feeling so small. “Jules, are you okay?”

A sob erupts from her throat at that, and she cups a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Her shoulders shake, and Julia gasps for breath. It’s all so wrong. She didn’t want this. Not like this.

Nate’s arms are around her immediately, and that just makes it worse. _This_ is where she should want to be, the only place she should long for… but she misses Deacon holding her, misses the way he kissed her, longs for him to be here with that stupidly joyful grin on his face. She clings to her husband until she cries herself out and presses her forehead against his shoulder. Breathing is a trial as bands clamp around her chest to strangle her.

“I love you,” she whispers brokenly, fist tightening around the material of his shirt sleeve.

His fingers thread through her hair as he slides onto the bed with her. “I love you, too, baby.”

“You _shouldn’t.”_ Not after everything she’s done, all the wrongs she’s committed.

He hums softly. “Why not?”

She shakes her head against his shoulder, sniffling. “Because I’m terrible.”

“No, you’re not.” He gently directs her face up toward his, and the next thing Julia knows, his lips are against hers. It’s like the Bombs never fell and nothing changed at all. Julia allows herself to fall into that feeling, to forget. Forget that the world burned, that Nate was gone, that her son died, that she fell in love with a such a beautiful broken liar, that everything she was has been lost to time.

Her baby kicks again, and that drags her back in panic, away from beautiful fantasy and his touch.

Nate’s eyes are hooded, sorrow creeping into his gaze. His face flickers, morphing into another she knows better than her own husband’s, and Julia has to look away. “Sorry.”

He palms her cheek, his hand sliding back into her hair. “Don’t. It’s okay. I should have asked.”

Julia’s heart jumps into her throat. “Y-you don’t have to ask to kiss me. We’re married.”

Something in Nate’s gaze flickers too quickly for her fatigued mind to process. “I won’t kiss you again unless you want me to.”

Julia frowns but nods all the same. Everyone in her life is drifting away, and she doesn’t know how to hang on to them. It's all slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

Nate’s hand hesitantly rests against her stomach, and that makes her heart hurt. “Is it weird for me to be excited?” He glances from her prominent stomach to her face, a lop-sided grin there. “Because I am.”

She doesn’t miss the wetness clinging stubbornly to his eyelashes, unwilling to fall. God, she doesn’t know how to fix this tangled mess of her life. “I don’t know, hon.”

“Is…” he swallows roughly. “Is he excited, too?”

Julia inhales sharply, thoughts drifting to a happier time. The fount of joy bursting from Deacon when he learned of her pregnancy, such a bright thing that even now it’s blinding to recall. The agony etched across his face when he tried to give their baby away to a man he’s never met. Her eyes drift closed. “Yeah,” she breathes, clinging to him like a lifeline. “He’s always wanted kids.”

Nate's voice is unbearably warm. “I hope you have the girl you wanted.”

Julia takes a moment to imagine her baby girl, wondering if she might have Deacon’s hair or maybe his eyes. Tears slip down her cheeks again. “Me, too.”

“I don’t mean to make you cry,” Nate whispers after a moment, gently guiding her to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is soothing, a reminder that he’s real and here, and he can be hers again if she wants. She owes him that.

“I wish Mom was here,” she whispers, “I miss her.”

He’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah,” he says, voice breaking slightly over the words. “Eleanor would be thrilled. So would Bobby.”

“I miss them _so much._ ”

She feels Nate flinch beneath her as his fingers slip through her hair. “Me, too, baby.”

Conversation lulls between them, and his touch is a soothing thing, pushing her toward sleep. Something so simple as this, curled against her husband's chest… Julia thought it was gone forever. She clings to him, fear gripping her that he will disappear in a puff of smoke. That this is all just a dream she will wake from. The thought breaks her, just a little.

“Is he…” Nate swallows, sighs, “is he doing okay?”

That sends all thoughts of sleep fleeing like rats from a sinking ship. Her head jerks up, staring into her husband’s worried face. “What?”

“Deacon.” He glances away, appearing oddly embarrassed. “Shaun mentioned he was here… that he was sick, and I heard Curie talking about him once or twice. I was just… worried, I guess. Shaun seemed really upset, so I didn’t think I should ask him. But maybe I shouldn't have asked you, either? Jules, I -”

Julia rests a hand against his chest to cease his babbling. “He’s okay. He just… just…” she sighs, “it isn’t important, but he’s alright. You remember Danse and Preston? They’re both keeping an eye on him while I’m here.”

Nate’s brows crease together. “Keeping an eye on him? Why do they have to watch him? What’s wrong?” It’s odd, seeing the flash of panic on his face for someone he’s never met.

She grimaces, unwilling to air Deacon’s dirty laundry to her husband. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Everything’s fine.”

His expression shifts to something resembling annoyance. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but you don’t have to lie to me, Jules.”

That causes her to flinch. Was Nate always so good at picking up on her lies? God, she hopes not. “Sorry, it’s not mine to tell, but Deacon really is fine.” _For now._

“He’s having a tough time with this, isn’t he?”

Julia sighs and reluctantly nods. “I guess you could say he’s handling it about as well as a mini nuke to the face.”

Nate huffs a mirthless laugh. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for him. Are you sure you don’t want to be with him right now? I’m okay.”

She thinks back to Deacon’s biting comment, the anguish practically thrumming through every inch of him, how he wouldn't look at her. She shakes her head. “It’s best if I keep my distance right now. He’s… got a lot of things to sort out. I’m just –” Julia swallows down the budding wave of sorrow threatening to break over her. “I’m better off here.”

She can’t bear seeing that look on her husband’s face, so she turns away. Her hand rubs against her stomach as the baby shifts, and Nate jerks. “What is it?”

He smiles softly. “Nothing. Just felt the baby move is all.” His hand falls on top of hers, and he loosely threads their fingers together. “Seems this little one is quite the acrobat.”

Julia can almost pretend that this is normal, that the only man in her life is the one beside her, that the baby in her belly doesn’t belong to someone else, and that everything in her life isn’t in shambles. Even entertaining the notion makes her heart twist with guilt. She hums softly in response, shoving away that particular ache for later. “Yeah.”

“Hon, you should get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

She doesn’t have the energy to fight it anymore and slips away into dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate finds this new Sanctuary a strange beast.
> 
> Nate PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I thought it was high time we get into Nate's head a little. Gotta admit, he's kinda weird to write, but I think I like it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and appreciated. :D

Nate slowly limps out into the Wasteland sun and blinks. He still hasn’t quite come to terms with just how much has _changed._ Everything is just… brown. And _dirty._ He breathes a chuckle. Who knew he’d miss the overly glossy sheen everything had back before the Bombs? He’d hated it at the time.

The pavement beneath his feet is cracked and buckling in a few places, centuries of wear there when to him, all of it was pristine only moments ago. He still has a difficult time wrapping his head around just how much he missed. Jules assured him that the world isn’t as bad as it looks, but Nate isn’t sure if he believes her or not. How has anyone survived? How could his Jules manage to live like _this,_ not to mention with their son? A stab of regret lances through him at being unable to give his family the better life he wanted.

A life without war.

His legs feel stiff and cumbersome as he lumbers down the street. Being frozen for centuries, shot, and laid up in a sickbed for over a month truly has done his poor body no favors, and that isn’t even considering his old war injuries. He really is an old man. God, how old _is_ he? Thirty? Two-hundred forty-five? Ugh, better to stick with thirty; sounds less insane, but he certainly feels closer to that two-hundred mark right now.

It hits him that Jules is nearly his age now – _she’s, what, twenty-nine? –_ and that makes his head spin, but it doesn’t upset him. Not really, except maybe the time he’s missed.

_Four fucking years. Shit._

Deep down, Nate realizes he shouldn’t be this okay with the state of his life; he _should_ be flipping out, but all he feels is eerily calm. He really isn’t certain why, maybe it's something to do with his army training, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna fight it. His Jules needs some serenity in her life right now, and damn him if he isn’t going to try to give her that. He owes his wife that much. Freaking out can be left for later.

She never explicitly said so, but it seems like her Deacon – who he _really_ ought to meet soon – is having something of a personal crisis. Not that he can blame him, really. This is certainly a difficult and unique situation. Nate feels for the guy and is more than a little intrigued. It couldn’t have been an easy choice, releasing his lover’s suddenly not-dead husband from that cryo pod, but from Jules’s and Curie's accounts, the man did so without hesitation. And then he made sure Nate didn’t bleed out on the floor when Jules froze up.

His behavior is just so fucking weird. Nate would almost think he didn’t give a damn about Jules or Shaun, but that isn’t the impression he’s picked up at all. Not from Jules or his son or anyone else that's mentioned the man around him. It's glaringly apparent that his Jules's Deacon cares too damned  _much._

It’s a strange sensation, feeling like a third wheel in his own family.

There are many faces here, all unknown to him, but they smile and wave if he catches their eye. It’s oddly comforting and reminds him a little of the old neighborhood. The people certainly aren’t the same, but the warmth is still here. Sanctuary Hills still feels like _home._

Didn’t Jules mention this place was abandoned when she woke up? Did she build this, all on her own? The more he learns of her time apart from him, the more his wife continues to impress him. Even so, a frown pulls at his lips. The Jules that greeted him when he woke isn’t the woman who walked into the Vault with him. She’s… harder now, that cloying softness he loved so much chiseled into something resembling a soldier’s grit.

It isn’t a life he ever wanted for her, but here they are. He tries not to feel too bitter for that failing.

Glancing toward the Rosa’s carport, Nate stops. There’s a power armor station there, with a set of armor the likes of which he’s never seen before. It puts the T-51 deployed in Alaska to shame. Could this be the T-60 he heard rumors about? He shambles over, grimacing at the ache in his right knee, gaze flickering over the suit.

“Wow,” he breathes. The power armor is even more impressive up close. It’s truly a marvelous piece of tech.

“A beaut, ain’t she?” a voice behind him drawls, and Nate turns. It belongs to a man with dark hair and a friendly face wearing mechanic’s overalls. The man sticks out his hand with a grin. “Name’s Sturges and lemme guess, you’re the Nate I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He nods slowly, taking the man’s hand with a firm shake. He hikes a thumb at the armor. “This yours?”

Sturges barks a laugh. “Oh, no. Me, I’m just a tinkerer. That baby there belongs to Danse. You met him yet? Big guy, not much of a talker? Think he’s currently keeping an eye on Deacon.”

Nate nods, idly wondering again why Deacon needs someone to watch him. It’s a thought he tucks away for later, but it definitely reaffirms his crisis theory. Hell, he hopes the man isn’t a danger to _himself._ Nate understands that sort of sadness better than he cares to admit, and he hopes that isn’t the case. Jules shouldn’t have to face that again.

He recalls Danse tagging along with Jules once when she visited. He never actually said, but Nate could tell he was a soldier immediately. It’s vaguely comforting that for all the world’s gone to hell, there’s still some kind of military out there. At least _that_ hasn’t changed.

He’d decided quickly he liked the stoic man well enough. Talking to Danse is like hanging with his old army buddies – _God, they’re all_ dead – an easy and familiar camaraderie that Nate desperately craves. The fact that Danse came to visit him several times without Jules still makes him smile. Almost like having a friend.

It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. Jules might now, but Nate just… he can’t go there with her. Not yet. Perhaps out of fear for what he might find lurking in her shadows. He’s still fighting to reconcile the picture of the wife in his mind – soft and kind and innocent to the ways of war – with the woman here now. This Jules is a fighter, in every sense of the word.

His companion keeps talking. “I do help Julia with the upkeep of hers, though.” He points across the way, to their old house’s carport. There’s another station there with a set of T-45 hanging in it. From what he can tell, it looks battered but perfectly serviceable. “That’s hers. She never uses it, though. Think it makes her claustrophobic?”

Nate nods at that; he can certainly understand the feeling. It took months of training before he could overcome the stifling sense of dread that crept up his spine whenever he was sealed in. He can’t even imagine what it would be like for someone with no training at all to be in a set, especially considering the T-45 model isn’t exactly known for its roominess.

“When did she wear it?” He wonders why Jules never mentioned it.

Sturges glances off toward the direction of Concord. “She used it to save us from some raiders that had us pinned down in the Museum of Freedom. Guess whoever crashed the Vertabird into the roof left it there to rot, lucky for us. Just when we thought it was over, a damn Deathclaw showed up. She barely managed to mow that thing down with the minigun she tore off that 'bird. Found out later, she’d only been outta the Vault about a day.”

All the color drains from Nate’s face. She was fighting in power armor _a day_ after she got out? “Wait. A Deathclaw? The hell is that?”

“Nasty piece of work,” Sturges replies, gesturing grandly with his arms. “Big reptile that walks on two legs, about nine, maybe ten feet tall. Razor sharp claws and teeth with a helluva bad attitude. Most of the time, if you meet one, you run and pray it doesn’t catch you. They’ve got hide tough as nails. I reckon that armor over there is the only reason she made it out alive. Might be why she keeps it around since it hasn’t seen use in years.”

Nate squashes down the wave of horror that washes over him at the notion of his sweet Jules killing people, and nearly _dying_ so soon after she woke. He clenches his eyes shut. He can’t… it must have been an absolute hell. She's always hated violence and guns; he’d had to sweet talk her pretty heavily to even learn how to shoot with a pistol.

Picturing her firing anything bigger than that is nearly beyond him, much less a _minigun_. It isn’t lost on him that the little gun training he forced on her very well might have saved her life. Jules really has become a soldier in her own right, hard as it is to believe. “She did all that?”

The mechanic nods, a touch of pride on his face. “Sure did. Gotta say, your missus is a real peach. Been a right pleasure knowing her, and we’d all do anything we could for her. Your boy, too.” Sturges gestures over to a workstation tucked into the corner beside the suit of power armor. “He comes over a lot, and we fiddle with stuff. Kid’s got a head for tinkering like I’ve never seen. It’s great.”

Nate limps over, hands tracing along the worktop. What appears to be a half-finished mod of some sort sits there gathering dust. From the state of it, the station hasn’t been used recently. He frowns, voice tight. “Shaun is a great kid.”

“Aw, shucks,” Sturges mumbles apologetically. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

He glances back at the other man’s worried face and smiles. “It’s alright. Just kinda wish I hadn’t missed so much.”

"Don't fret. Plenty of time left." The mechanic claps him on the shoulder. “He’d probably kill me for telling you, but Shaun was real excited to meet you. It was all he could talk about for days.”

Nate nods weakly, gaze drifting back to the workstation. Something propped against the wall beside it catches his attention, and he picks it up. How curious, finding a guitar in a place like this.

Sturges brightens at that. “Hey. Forgot I set that out here. You play?”

Grasping the guitar in his hands, Nate strums across the strings. It’s wildly out of tune, but that’s fixable. The instrument itself is in surprisingly good condition. Eyeing down the neck, he’s pleased to find it straight as an arrow, a miracle for something that has to be centuries old. Even the strings seem in decent shape. “Yeah. Feels like a lifetime ago, though. Do you think I could borrow this, Sturges?”

“Hell, you can have it!” The man smiles brightly. “As long as you promise to play us something sometime.”

Nate barks a laugh. “Sure, once I get it tuned up I’ll play anything you want.”

“Awesome!” He slaps Nate on the back hard enough to stagger him a little. The man is stronger than he looks. “Sorry, but I gotta get back to work. I’d love to talk to you more later, though.”

“Sounds great,” Nate calls after him as he watches him leave. Gingerly setting the guitar down for later retrieval, he continues wandering through Sanctuary. It’s truly impressive how many of the houses are still standing after centuries of neglect. He briefly contemplates a visit to his old home, but it’s quickly dismissed.

Nate isn’t quite sure he’s ready to wander through those particular memories just yet.

Slowly making his way around the small town, he finds himself standing beneath the large elm tree in the middle of the cul-de-sac. The fact it’s still standing leaves him a little awestruck, staring up into the boughs of the tree. Granted, it’s barren, but the old girl’s still here.

There’s something to be said for that. He can’t even remember how many times he’d found Jules napping underneath its branches or curled up with a book. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture it. A tear slips down his face that he hastily brushes it away. No one wants to see a grown man cry.

Two of the houses here are gone, but the land where they once stood is being put to good use. Though Nate doesn’t recognize any of the plants, except for something that looks a little like corn, there’s a bustling farm here being worked by some of the townsfolk. What isn’t being utilized as farmland is a corral for livestock.

Nate frowns. Are those… two-headed cows? Shaking his head, he leans heavily against a boulder to rest his tired muscles. Age really is catching up to him, he muses, massaging his right knee. Maybe he should head back to the clinic; he doesn't want Curie to yell at him for overdoing it. Just as he decides to do just that, a familiar face catches his attention.

“Hey!” he calls out, standing up, and nearly falls when his knee gives. “Hey, uh,” _Shit, what was his name?!_ “Bobby!”

The man turns, a scowl on his face as he searches for the voice calling him. The look lessens when his gaze lands on Nate. “Julia’s –? Shi-oot, man, didn’t know you were up and about yet.” He wanders over, shoulders hunched, and it makes him look even smaller than he already is. Jules’s friend pulls off his hat and rakes a hand through his hair. “Hey. Need something?”

Nate waves, unsure of what to do now that he actually has the man’s attention. He only has the vaguest recollection of him from when he first woke. All he really remembers is he mistook him for his brother, and – “Oh, it’s RJ, right? Sorry.”

RJ laughs, a half-grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t worry about it. We didn’t have the best introduction anyway.” He sticks his hand out, and Nate takes it without hesitation. “RJ MacCready, at your service. Finding your way around alright?”

Rubbing his aching knee again, Nate nods. “For the most part. Neighborhood’s a little different from what I remember.”

“I bet. Least you ain’t acting like a spooked Radstag,” he replies, leaning against the old tree and lighting a cigarette. After a moment, he tilts the pack at Nate. “That’s something.”

He waves it away, wondering what the hell a Radstag is but doesn’t ask. “Left that habit in my army days, sorry.”

“Suit yourself.” RJ shrugs, and the pack disappears into the pocket of his coat.

Absently studying him, Nate’s honestly surprised. He’s a small man, bordering on _tiny,_ and clearly rough around the edges. His coat is ragged and road worn, and apparently loose bullets are a decorative item now? RJ isn’t someone he’d have thought his Jules would befriend. Nate has the sudden realization he has very little idea who his wife actually is anymore.

“Been friends with Jules for long?” he asks idly, surveying the area. He notices RJ doing the same. It's a habit of those no stranger to battle.

The man’s eyes shift over to him briefly as he blows a puff of smoke out the side of his mouth. “Yeah, few years now. Guess we met a few months after she woke. Tagged along with her for a while.”

Nodding, Nate refrains from asking any more questions. As curious as he is about her time while he was sleeping, it seems wrong to grill a man he’s just met about it. He also has no idea how trustworthy this RJ really is. While he trusts Jules's judgement well enough, it's an easy task to pull the wool over someone's eyes. “She mentioned you have a son?”

RJ nods, his eyes brightening just a little. “Yeah, his name’s Duncan. He’s real close with Shaun.” He coughs a little, stubbing out the finished smoke under his boot heel. “If it wasn’t for Julia, Duncan wouldn’t even be here now.”

Brows furrowing, Nate turns toward him. “What was wrong with him?”

“I dunno what the disease was,” he shrugs, eyes downcast. “One day he was fine, the next, he had a fever and his body was covered in these weird blue boils. Nothing we did made him better, and he got to the point he couldn’t even walk. I caught wind of a cure here in the Commonwealth, but it was balls deep in ferals. Couldn’t get to it myself.”

Nate frowns, a sinking feeling in his gut. That unknown disease sounds a little too close to the New Plague he'd heard of in his army days for comfort, but he doesn’t mention that to RJ. Doesn’t really see the need to. He hopes that he’s wrong, and that that particular horror from the War is dead and gone. “Ferals?”

“Guess Julia didn’t get around to explaining that yet. Ferals are ghouls. Irradiated people. Burned, bumpy skin. Kinda gruesome, really, but most of ‘em are just normal people. Ferals, though, their brains have rotted away from the rads. They’ll eat you alive if you aren’t careful. Fast as hell, too.”

A shiver runs down his spine at that. Irradiated people? Shit. Not something he expected. “Damn. That’s…”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” RJ agrees, crossing his arms. “Just a piece of friendly advice, try not to freak when you meet one. A ghoul, I mean. Shoot the sh – crap out of ferals.”

Nate takes it under advisement. “I can do that. I take it there’s ghouls here in Sanctuary?”

The smaller man nods, pointing back up the road. “There’s one now. You’ve met him, actually.”

“What? How would I have –?” Nate squints toward the man RJ pointed out. From this distance he can’t tell much except the person has bad skin and not much hair. His face swivels over to his companion.

His lips twist into a mischievous grin. “Ghouls live a _long_ time. I know a few older than you and Julia. If I remember right, that guy sold you your place in the Vault.”

“What? Really?” Nate turns back, but the man, or ghoul, has disappeared somewhere. He vaguely remembers the Vault-Tec Rep, a mousy man who had seemed little more than a nervous wreck. “Well, imagine that. Small world.”

“Julia likes pickin’ up strays if you haven’t noticed,” RJ mumbles, kicking off the tree. Their impromptu conversation seems to be coming to a close.

“Wait,” Nate says before he can talk himself out of it.

Jules’s friend stops, glancing back at him with a raised brow. “Yeah, what is it?”

“You don’t happen to know where Deacon’s hiding, do you?”

RJ opens his mouth before snapping it shut. He hesitates, expression closing off and hands curling into fists. Nate thinks he isn’t going to tell him, but he finally speaks. “You’re not going to hit him, are you?”

He laughs at that, shaking his head. “Hell no. I just want to meet him. Keep hearing he’s the reason I’m still not a Popsicle. Ought to thank him for that. Scout’s honor.” He does a two-finger salute that leaves RJ looking confused.

After debating for a moment, RJ waves him on with a head shake. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Nate limps along slowly behind him and wonders if maybe he’s in over his head this time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon really isn't prepared for the visitor at his door.
> 
> Deacon PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the rivals finally meet. 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys.
> 
> I'm super excited about this one. :X
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and loved!

There’s a knock at his door, and Deacon sighs. Only one person ever does something so old-fashioned, and Danse certainly wouldn’t let just anyone in to see him, especially not after the whole drugging incident. Hell, he’s lucky he’s not tied to the damned bed, or whatever worse punishment he had in mind. Charmer didn’t specify. Deacon highly doubts it would have been his idea of a fun time.

“I don’t want to talk, Charmer,” he calls out. He truly wishes she would just leave him alone so he could figure out how to deal with this. Looking at her is little more than agony now, a reminder of what he had and lost, and by his own hand no less.

Charmer might still love him, but she doesn’t belong to him anymore, if she ever really did.

The door slides open, and the last person he ever expected walks in. “Sorry, but that’s not me. Can we talk?”

“I… uh…” Deacon pales, glancing at the Stealth Boy sitting just out of reach on the dresser. Sure, it’s ancient and barely ever works - more like _never_ \- but maybe if he’s quick enough (and lucky enough), he can maneuver around Charmer’s husband and just disappear. The Ricksons have haunted him enough for one lifetime. He certainly doesn’t want to talk to the man whose wife he’s been fucking senseless for years.

Her husband studies him, glancing toward the dresser. He casually picks up the Stealth Boy, fiddling absently with the dials. He clearly knows his way around it, and his voice carries an odd sort of awe as he studies it. “This is a prototype model. Didn’t know these things even still existed.” He gestures with the device at Deacon. “Does it work?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, “most of the time.” His fingers clench, longing for the weight of it in his hands.

Danse, along with goody-two shoes Preston “I’m-a-Minuteman” Garvey, made sure every other stealth item was kept well out of his reach, locked up God knows where. The only reason Deacon still has this one is because Charmer was kind enough to make that possible, and frankly it didn’t work when Danse tried it. Even if it had, the tech is so bad he could be spotted a mile away by a _toddler_.

Would have been a damn shame to lose it, but it’s nothing less than he deserves.

He sets it down, in such a way that he’s standing between it and Deacon. Deacon’s chest tightens, fear choking him as he licks his lips nervously. Jule – _Charmer’s_ _–_ husband is a complete unknown, but if he’s anything like Charmer… Deacon is in trouble. A metric shit ton of it.

“Jules told me you’re the reason I’m alive,” he says after a time, blue eyes never leaving Deacon for a moment. “So, thanks for that.”

“Sure,” his voice won’t stop cracking, “No sweat.” Deacon swallows, studying the man’s face behind his sunglasses. A network of scars spiderweb along the right side of it, the cheekbone and bridge of his nose wrinkled with the tell-tell irregularity of a poorly healed burn. He tries to recall if Jul – _Charmer,_ _dammit_ _–_ ever told him about it; Nothing comes to mind.

But then again, he can’t think of much beyond the dwindling hope of escape. A part of him wishes for another bottle of gut rot to drown his sorrows in, even as his stomach heaves at the thought.

Nate Rickson is a large man, more so than he appeared wrapped in his sickbed, well muscled with a trim waist and broad shoulders. His mere presence is overwhelming, the likes of which Deacon has rarely ever encountered. Even with his scars, he’s beautiful in a manner no Wastelander could ever be, a gleaming prewar relic just like his wife. He favors his right leg when walking, his limp evident to even the most unobservant. War injury?

Charmer mentioned that once, didn’t she?

He chuckles, a warm bubbling thing that manages to put Deacon even more on edge. He touches the marred side of his face with a sardonic smile, accurately guessing what holds Deacon’s attention. “Like it? Compliments of a fusion core exploding damn near in my face. Wouldn’t recommend it. Put my soldiering days behind me for good.” He shrugs. “Not so bad, I guess, since I was home when it all went to hell.” He swallows and says no more.

Deacon can’t help but gape at this man. Jul – _**Charmer’s**_ _–_ husband is acting like they’re besties, swapping stories about the good old days. Deacon can’t keep his jaw from dropping open ever so slightly. “It’s…” he swallows, trying not to choke on the words, “it certainly gives you some of that good ole Wasteland charm. You’ll fit right in.”

“Guess that’s something,” he agrees with a lop-sided grin, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s still openly studying him, and Deacon wonders what the hell he’s looking for. “Do you love her?”

Deacon _does_ choke on that, panic surging up from the very depths of his soul. He can’t answer that question. It’s too much to think about, and he doesn’t dare open that door. Not now. Not with him. He isn’t sure he could ever shut it again if he did. He’d barely managed to lock everything away the first time.

Her husband frowns when he doesn’t respond. He looks remarkably like Charmer when he pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation, and Deacon has to keep himself from laughing at how absurd that thought is. “Look, I get it. Really. This is… it’s a shit situation, but I’m not looking to start a fight. I just… I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Charmer’s made of tougher stuff than you give her credit for,” Deacon says, ignoring his question. His tone might have been a bit sharper than he meant.

A curious light shines in his eyes. “Why do you call her that?”

Did she not mention the Railroad, Deacon wonders. Well, shit. He’s really losing his touch. “Code name.”

His brows furrow, the damaged skin pulling in a strange way that makes Deacon feel vaguely unsettled. “For the Railroad? She did mention it when she…” he stops, swallows, “when she told me about Shaun. Code name. Right.” Something seems to occur to him. “Guess that means Deacon isn’t really your name, either?”

He hopes to hell Charmer wouldn’t tell her husband that particular secret, but the fact that he can’t be sure leaves him spinning. “Bingo. Looks like Charmer bagged herself one smart cookie.”

The soldier out of time is quiet for a long while. Long enough for Deacon to wonder if maybe he can just sneak away without a Stealth Boy. He’s always been quiet, and Charmer’s husband isn’t really paying attention right now near as he can tell. He’d be willing to face Danse’s wrath to get away from _this._ Just when Deacon decides to risk it, he speaks.

“I get it, y’know. That need to hide. All the paranoia and the half-truths. Knew a few guys who were spec ops in my soldier days. Squirrelly fellas, always looking over their shoulder, kept an eye open searching for a way out. Said it was the only thing keeping them alive. You remind me of them, actually.” His voice is strangely gentle, and Deacon doesn’t know what to do with it. “I was just boots on the ground, but… _after…_ it took me months before I stopped jumping at every shadow. Before I could manage to sleep more than an hour without waking up in a cold sweat. Can’t imagine how bad it would have been if I was intel.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Deacon snarls, wincing the moment it’s out of his mouth.

The other man takes it in stride, a sympathetic grin on his face. He shifts weight off his bad leg. “I never said you were.”

This isn’t what Deacon expected. Charmer’s husband is supposed to be _angry_ , yell at him for fucking around with his wife, maybe even punch him. Sure, it’d hurt like hell, but Deacon was prepared for that. He’d take the hit, and then he’d try to just _forget it all_.

Her soldier wasn’t supposed to see right through him. He wasn’t supposed to _understand._

“I don’t get you.” Deacon isn’t prepared for _this._

That surprises him, his eyebrows darting up before he relaxes into an easy grace that makes Deacon feel a little jealous. “Not much to get. I’m a soldier, or I was. Gotta pay attention if you don’t wanna end up dead.” His gaze drifts off into something resembling a thousand yard stare. He hesitates just long enough to have Deacon's hackles rising. “I love Jules, and I want her to be happy. I’m… I’m not –” Charmer’s husband takes a deep breath; his hands are shaking faintly, but he’s good at hiding it. “I’m not going to take her away from you.”

“You’re her _husband,”_ Deacon snaps, incredulous.

His gaze cuts over to him. “And you’re not? I was _dead_. I can’t fault her for moving on, and frankly I’m glad she found someone who cares the way you do about her.”

“So what?” Deacon hears himself saying, “That’s it? Thanks for the rescue, adios amigos? You gotta know how cruel that is, especially to her.” He conveniently doesn’t think about his own attempts at leaving. Because that’s different. A _hundred_ ways of different.

“I never said I was leaving. My son is here. So is Jules. Besides, not really anywhere for me to go. I’m just… taking a backseat. It’s the least I can do.”

Deacon shakes his head. This is a dream. A nightmare. There is no way her husband is really here telling him this. There is no possible way he is okay with his wife fucking another man right under his nose. This is fantasy. He couldn’t even come up with a whopper like this.

“You can think I’m lying all you want, but I’m not,” her soldier says, as if reading his mind. “Jules loves you, and even if you won’t say it, you clearly love her, too.”

“How do you figure?”

The look shot his way is one of gruff astonishment. “It’s _obvious_. The only reason I’m standing here now is because you love her enough to give her what you think she needs, even if that isn’t you. Even if it destroys you.” His gaze drifts off a little at that.

Deacon’s never been seen through so fucking easily before. Not even Charmer is this good. He is, as they say, up shit creek without a paddle. Hell, he’s not even sure he’s got a _boat._ “You don’t want her back?”

“Of course I do. But, for everything that’s changed, I know this. Jules’ll ignore everything she wants to come back to me because she feels obligated. She’s done it before.” He smiles, though the scars shape it more toward a strange grimace. “After the hell I put her through when she was pregnant, she deserves devotion like yours. It isn’t something I can give her right now.”

“You don’t even _know_ me,” Deacon retorts back. This is a dream. Shit like this doesn’t happen, and even if it did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be happening to him. He isn’t that lucky. Never has been.

Her husband looks unperturbed. “What? Is this the part where you tell me how wrong I am? That you’re a man-shaped bucket of scum who doesn’t deserve her?” He scoffs, studying the details of the threadbare rug on Deacon’s floor. “I’ve been around enough liars to know how to tell the difference. Whatever you tell yourself, whatever you think you’ve done or, hell, _have_ done… Jules chose you. Don’t throw that away.”

There’s something there. Something crawling just beneath the surface Deacon doesn’t know and can’t fathom, background info Charmer never told him, if she evens knows it herself. He certainly doesn’t begrudge that. There’s a hell of a lot she doesn’t know about him either. It’s just sick curiosity that has him interested now, but he isn’t about to ask.

Whatever it is, it’s crippled the expression on her husband’s face, deep set sorrowful longing carved there in testament.

The soldier sighs deep, glancing back at him with an odd sort of mirthless grin. He murmurs something before he turns to go. It sounds vaguely like “don’t let her settle for me again,” but he’s gone before Deacon has the chance to even formulate a reply.

Leaning back on his hands on the bed, he rubs his face and reminds himself to breathe.

Well then.

Deacon pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming and winces when it hurts like hell.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RJ visits Julia.
> 
> MacCready PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Apparently I'm a big fan of shifting PoV's here lately. I realized when I wrote Nate's PoV that I had never done one from MacCready's, so here's me remedying that. This was weird, I gotta say. 
> 
> It's also my excuse to have Mac ask about the whole "Bobby" name thing. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and loved. <3

RJ MacCready is a simple man. Merc by trade. Give him a rifle and bullets with something to shoot, and you’ve got yourself one man: pleased as punch. If he happens to be getting paid to shoot said target, even better. Throw in a pack of smokes, he’s set.

He came to the Commonwealth to save his dying son.

When Julia wandered into the Third Rail’s VIP room like a dazed Radstag and hired him, he didn’t expect much. He honestly thought she wouldn’t last a month, especially considering how abysmal her aim truly was (he still has that hole in his hat, thank you very much). He wondered how she’d managed to even make it to Goodneighbor. The area outside of town isn’t exactly known for its hospitable denizens.

If someone had told him then that she would be the reason Duncan was still breathing, he would have laughed in their face.

He went into their agreement not expecting anything but a paycheck. At its end, he found his dearest friend. It still amazes him to this day. Julia means the world to him, and he’d gladly do anything she asks. He doesn’t like thinking too long about his feelings for her, mainly because he knows nothing good will come of it.

RJ is a simple man, and feelings only complicate things.

Julia is his friend, and her life is already tricky enough without him adding to it.

With her dead husband suddenly _not_ and Deacon’s typical asshole behavior ramped up to the max, her life has been nothing short of a parade of dramatic bullshit that’s running her ragged.

RJ wonders how she’s managed to stay on her feet this long. The situation would be hellish the best of times, but Julia is also heavily pregnant. He’s honestly in awe of her sheer strength of will. He can’t even imagine what he’d do if he was in a similar situation.

If Lucy came back when he and Julia were –

Swallowing, he shoves away the thought with brutal efficiency. Lucy isn’t coming back to him, and Julia will never be his.

“Hey, Julia,” he greets.

She smiles broadly at him, and it’s a nice thing to see. Feels like he hasn’t seen her anything close to happy in ages. “Hey there, Bob –” she pauses, and that happiness fades, “RJ.”

Even though he's only got himself to blame, a larger part of him than he cares to think about misses the name Bobby. She’s the only one to ever call him that. “How’re you doing? Been a while.”

Julia nods, glancing down at her pronounced middle and sighs. “I’m making it. I really shouldn’t complain, but it’s been…” She gestures helplessly and doesn’t continue. “I’ll be glad when this baby’s born, though.”

He breathes a laugh. “Yeah, I bet. Can’t be fun carrying that around all day.” Lucy was utterly miserable by the end, he recalls with just a hint of sorrow. Some days, he thinks he’d give his right arm just to see her again.

Julia reaches over and places a hand on his, her brow knotted with worry as she watches him. Even with all the shit going on in her life, she’s still worrying about him. RJ doesn’t know how she does it.

“How’s the Popsicle?” he asks, trying to shift the spotlight away from him. He doesn’t like seeing her look at him like that.

Running into Julia’s husband out of the blue threw him for a loop, to put it mildly. Last he knew, the man was barely able to get out of bed, let alone walk around unassisted. The encounter left him feeling incredibly unnerved. Laid up in his sickbed, Nate didn’t look too different from anyone else, but on his feet, walking around, the man was freakin’ _huge_ , and not just physically. RJ’s met cult leaders with less presence.

RJ wonders idly if he actually visited Deacon. If Nate did, well, he feels a little bad about that, but Deacon needs to have his ass kicked from time to time. It doesn’t happen enough as far as he’s concerned, especially considering the level of bullshit he's been up to lately.

Julia flinches, her gaze flicking toward the hallway. “Nate’s… great. He’s going to make a full recovery.” There’s a flash of relief there, and of sorrow. She pulls away from him, stroking her stomach.

Well, that complicates things.

Not that RJ wished anything bad on Nate, but having him around is going to screw with the thing Julia’s got going on with Deacon. Hell, it already has. Deacon’s utterly spectacular crash and burn is evidence enough of that. RJ didn’t witness it, but he does remember Julia and Shaun’s sleepless nights and the fear that the jerk in sunglasses would never wake up again.

Hell, _he_ was worried about him, too.

For all that RJ doesn’t understand about Julia and Deacon’s relationship – like how the hell she can stand him for one – he does get that their feelings are real. It’s about the only thing he’s ever been able to honestly say he knows for sure as far as Deacon’s concerned. He clearly loves Julia. Man couldn’t hide it if his life depended on it.

He and Deacon don’t see eye-to-eye on much, or anything really, but when it comes to Julia, they’re both on the same page.

Having lost someone he loved more than anything, he’d never wish that on anyone. Not even Deacon. RJ can’t see this ending in anything but pain, and it’s tearing him up that he can’t do anything to help.

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Julia, no bullshit. Are you really okay?”

She laughs brokenly. “My husband’s back, I’m about to pop with another man’s child, and I think my lover’s trying to kill himself, but I’m _swell_. I don’t know why you’d think otherwise.”

He grimaces. “That’s not funny.”

Her eyes cut toward him before drifting back to her lap. “Yeah. It’s a pretty cruel joke, isn’t it?”

RJ tries to think of something – _anything –_ to get rid of that look on her face.

“Hey. It’s not too late. We could blow this joint and go do our own thing, just you and me,” he offers suddenly and only realizes after that he’s actually serious. "Could pop over to Goodneighbor, pester Hancock. It'll be fun."

Julia gazes up at him, openly gaping, but that look of utter melancholy has disappeared. He’ll call that a win. Her mouth snaps closed with a click of teeth, and she manages a smile. “Tempting, but I can’t. I’m pretty sure everything would fall apart if I did. Sorry, Bo – RJ.”

He sighs. “You can call me Bobby. I really don’t mind.”

Her hands knot in the blanket, gaze drifting. “You asked me not to.”

RJ waves it away without a thought. “Don’t worry about what I said. It’s fine. I am kinda curious though. Why _do_ you call me that? It got something to do with Nate’s brother?”

Julia winces a little, closing her eyes. “Yeah.” She stops, swallowing a few times before she speaks again. “When we met, you, uh… reminded me of him, a little. I’m really not sure why. Maybe I was just searching for something that didn’t feel so fucking foreign. I dunno. After I found out your name was Robert like his, too, I just… it made it easier. Like home wasn’t as gone as it felt. You never said anything about it, so I just kept doing it.”

Well, fuck. “Julia, seriously. Call me Bobby.”

She nods, and some of that sadness seems to lift. “Okay. I can do that.”

He reaches out and grips her shoulder. “And hey, that offer still stands whenever. Always down for some one-on-one time with my favorite girl.”

Her eyes grow as wide as saucers, whole body rigid under his fingers, and RJ doesn’t know exactly what happened except that he’s made her cry. He decides against asking and looks away, waiting for her to speak. It takes a while.

“S-sorry.” One of her hands covers his, and the corners of her mouth lift sadly. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember you aren’t Nate’s brother.”

She doesn’t explain any further, and RJ doesn’t ask. It isn’t really his business, anyway.

RJ is a simple man, and this shit is way above his pay-grade.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate surprises Julia in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and loved. :D

Wandering down the hall to her husband’s room, Julia hears a strange noise she can’t quite place. It tickles a faint memory in the back of her mind, but she only realizes what it is when she sees him tuning the guitar in his hands. It brings a smile to her face; she always enjoyed listening to him play, even when he was terrible.

Leaning against the door frame, she watches him work. Studying the line of his shoulders as he shifts, the furrow of concentration across his brow, the movement of his hands across the strings, Julia feels a sudden rush of heat straight through her. The ferocity of it surprises her.

Nate glances up from his work, a lop-sided grin pulling up the corner of his mouth when he notices her. She looks away, a blush staining her cheeks. “Hey you,” he calls sweetly, voice clearer than it’s been in weeks. “Wanna hear a song?”

Julia hesitates a little before nodding. She waddles over and takes a seat beside him on the bed, grateful to be sitting down. “I take it you’ve met Sturges, then?”

Her husband nods, strumming the strings once more and seemingly pleased with the sound. “I took a walk around Sanctuary the other day. Figured I should get reacquainted with the neighborhood. You got a nice thing going here, hon. I’m impressed. Already feels like home.”

A smile breaks across her face before she can think to stop it, rubbing her swollen belly. The day this baby is born cannot come quickly enough; carting her bundle of joy around is murder on her joints. Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, Julia’s glad he seems to be settling in well. “Thanks. I really like it here.”

Nate’s eyes widen at that. “Sanctuary Hills finally grew on you, eh? Only took, what, two-hundred years?”

She chuckles. “Give or take a decade.” Flopping back on the bed, she basks in the bit of sunlight shining into the room from the window. It feels nice. Comfortable.

Her husband shifts so he’s facing her and starts playing, and it takes her a moment to place the song. Tears spring unbidden that she hastily wipes away. “I didn’t realize you knew how to play _The End of the World.”_ Her voice cracks just a little.

The expression gracing his face is withdrawn, bittersweet bordering on sad. “You always loved this song. I wanted to surprise you with it.” He meets her eyes, shrugging his shoulders a bit helplessly with a dopey grin. “So, surprise, sweetheart?”

Julia swallows heavily, humming along as best she can. It really is one of her favorite songs; she still sings along when it comes on Diamond City Radio. As he continues, her voice cracks too much to go on, and she covers her mouth to keep back the sob rushing up her throat. Her sweet husband stops when he notices as Julia sniffles, managing to get a hold of herself. “It’s… it’s wonderful, honey. _Thank you.”_

The guitar is set aside with a soft thunk as he cups her cheek. The pad of his thumb strokes along the line of her cheekbone, and Julia finds herself leaning into the touch. After a moment of hesitation, Nate leans over, hovering just above her with such bright sorrowful eyes.

“Can I kiss you, Jules?” he whispers, something raw and aching in the tone.

“ _Of_ _course_ you can,” she breathes, and then she’s surrounded by her husband’s gentle embrace. His lips are faintly chapped but wonderful, and her hands curl around him instinctively. The kiss is chaste, but it lights a fire in her belly. Every nerve in her body tingles, hyper aware of each brush of his skin against hers, and she’s breathless when he pulls away.

His fingers glide through her hair as his gaze roves over her. Julia thinks for a moment he might lean in for another, but instead he sits up and slips from her fingers. She frowns, heart plummeting. Something isn’t right.

“Nate?” she asks, sitting up awkwardly on her elbows. He’s already back to fiddling with the guitar, not looking at her. “Hon? What’s wrong?”

Eyes closing with a sigh, he absently starts strumming _The End of the World_ again, and it breaks her heart.

“I met Deacon,” he mumbles after a time.

That has her sitting up in an instant, heart attempting to leap from her throat. “What?”

His blue eyes cut toward her for a moment before guiltily looking away. “Said I met your lover.”

Julia waits with bated breath for more, some inkling of how _th_ _at_ meeting went, but Nate doesn’t go on. Her stomach aches, prompting an annoyed rub. “Well?”

“Well _what?”_ Suddenly, he’s the Nate that came back from the war: injured, reclusive and quiet, utterly beyond her reach. She rakes a hand restlessly through her hair.

Huffing noisily through her nose, Julia violently gestures with her hands. “You can’t just tell me you met Deacon, and then just – just not say anything! You didn’t…” she hesitates, swallowing, “Didn’t hit him, did you?”

That prompts a scowl and a particularly angry clang against the strings. “Why does _everyone_ think I want to hit him? Jules, no. I didn’t _hit_ him. Probably scared the hell outta him, though.”

Alarm bells clatter loudly in Julia’s mind, and she has to force herself not to run and check that Deacon is still here. Danse or Preston would have told her if anything happened, or if not, Shaun certainly would have. Her son has been Deacon’s shadow these past weeks. Taking a deep breath, she focuses on her husband. Deacon is fine.

Everything is _fine._

Scooting a little closer to him, she rests a hand on his knee. “You wanna tell me about it?”

Her husband frowns a little, the song ending and thus his distraction. His hand pauses over the strings, but he still won’t look at her. “I like him, Jules.”

She childishly wipes at her eyes in attempt to keep tears at bay. “You do?”

Nate nods, finally looking up, and there’s wetness slipping down his cheek in stark contrast to the playful tone of his voice. “Yeah.” With a sigh, he sets the guitar down on the bed behind him. “Older than I expected, though. Honey,” his tone dips into utter seriousness, “I think he might be robbing the cradle.”

Julia rolls her eyes at the jest, her anxiety lessening. Poor though it is, she still breathes a laugh. Nate isn’t wrong. Deacon _is_ quite a bit older than her; she often forgets because of how juvenile his behavior can be.

“See this face?” She points to herself. “This face _isn’t_ amused. You are so not funny.” She manages to lean forward and playfully punch his arm without overbalancing.

Her husband chuckles before the mirth dies in his eyes. “How old is he, anyway?”

“I, uh, don’t actually know,” she admits, scratching her temple.

One of his dark brows raises, but he otherwise doesn’t comment. He doesn’t have to. She can read that expression like a book.

Crossing her arms, she turns away with a huff, chin raised defiantly. “It never came up, alright? It’s not important anyway.”

“Do you even know his name?” Nate asks softly, causing Julia to jump.

“I _told_ you his name. It’s Deacon,” she insists, refusing to look at him. Fear courses up her spin that somehow her husband can see right through her, can read past every lie she’s ever told, straight to the truth. There are some secrets she hopes never see the light of day.

“Hon, I know that’s a code name.” She can hear the frown in his voice and curls into herself a little more. A deep ache drops through her gut.

Clenching her eyes shut, Julia takes a few deep breaths to calm the frantic beat of her heart. This Nate is one she doesn’t know, and that’s terrifying. “I… can’t tell you about that. I’m sorry.”

His hand curls around her shoulder. She flinches at the touch. “I’m not asking you to. I just wanted to know if you realized.”

Julia glares at him. “I’m not an idiot, Nate. Everyone in the Railroad uses a code name. Even _I_ have a code name.”

Nate grins a little, likely attempting to lighten the mood. “Yeah. No kiddin’, Charmer.”

Her heart seizes tight in her chest, breath caught somewhere in her throat. “D-don’t call me that,” she begs fiercely with eyes the size of saucers, terrified that Jules with become nothing more than a memory, a name she will never hear again. Not from Deacon or from Nate or anyone.

“Jules?” Her husband’s voice is soft, full of worry, and she has never felt more relieved to hear her name spoken. “Hon? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just a joke.”

Her eyes cut over to him, pouting. “Like I said. Not funny.”

He scoots over and around behind her, legs draped on either side of her hips as he pulls her back into his chest. Nate presses a kiss to the crown of her head, arms curling around her middle. His hands make their way to her stomach, and Julia has to push down the abrupt wave of emotion the gesture brings with it. “Do you hate that name?”

Tilting her head back against his shoulder, she shakes her head and rests her eyes. She’s suddenly so tired and achy. “No. But… Deacon won’t call me anything but that anymore, and when you did it, too, I just… got scared.”

“Sorry.”

Julia sighs deep, the heat of his body a soothing thing against her sore back. “It’s okay.”

“He really is terrified, isn’t he?” Nate murmurs after a while, hands starting to rub soothing circles around her swollen middle. It feels so nice.

Julia hesitates, voice frozen with indecision. In a way, speaking like this about Deacon feels akin to betrayal, but she desperately wants to talk to someone who understands. Someone who really _cares._

“I’m losing him,” she whispers, resting her hands on top of his. Her bottom lip trembles as tears spring to her eyes, and she doesn’t bother stopping them. “I know it’s wrong, and he’s trying so hard to let me go… But _I_ can’t.” She grips her husband’s hands tightly, eyes shuddering closed. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t let him go.”

Nate hugs her, his chin hooking over her shoulder. There’s a tremor to his voice when he finally speaks. “I never asked you to, hon.”

“But I _have_ to!” she protests. “You’re my husband, Nate. I can’t just… do what I want. I can’t.”

She realizes he’s shaking, and that just destroys any control she has. Ugly emotion claims her, wracking her entire being. She has to… She can’t… Deacon isn’t…

Julia clamps her eyes shut, wishing more than anything to just _wake_ _up._

Nate inhales roughly, his arms slowly releasing her. “Julia, baby, please don’t do this again.”

Hiccuping, she slowly pushes herself around to look at him. “Nate, I –” Her mouth suddenly snaps shut with the realization of what he just said. Her blood runs cold, stomach flopping angrily. “Again? What are you talking about?”

Nate’s eyes are so unbearably sad and kind. His trembling fingers slide through her hair as he forces a smile. “Honey, don’t make me the reason you leave him. _Please.”_

She can do little more than stare at him, heart fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings. “You don’t want me?” she squeaks.

Her beautiful husband looks away, swallowing heavily. “It’s not that. It will never be that, but _I_ don’t need you the way he does. I can’t hold you back anymore. I won’t let you do that.”

“I don’t understand,” Julia finally mumbles, a deep cold settling into her, an aching spasm coursing through her. “Nate, what are you saying?”

“I’m telling you it’s okay, Jules,” he replies, the expression on his face nearly back to normal. She wouldn’t notice there was a damned thing wrong if she didn’t know him so well. “You don’t have to give him up to come back to me. I want you to be selfish this time.”

Julia doesn’t know what to say to that. She stares at her husband, a man she truly does love. A man telling her that he doesn’t mind her affair. The entire thing just… doesn’t compute.

He pushes her up to her feet suddenly. “Go on. You want to see him, right?”

Blinking, she dumbly watches him a moment longer. Her mouth opens, longing to say _something_ , but in the end, she doesn’t know what.

Nate smiles at her sweetly, picking up his guitar again. “Go, Jules. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Her feet move before she can think, rushing out into the Wasteland sun. The clinic is next door to the house where Deacon is staying, making it a short dash to get there. She flies past a startled Preston and doesn’t even bother knocking as she flings the door to his room open.

Her chest is heaving, heart thundering in her ears, and Deacon’s clearly startled by her sudden presence. He drops the book he was reading, anxiously sitting up in bed. “C-Charmer?”

She’s struck by just how startlingly _young and frightened_ he looks, his voice wobbling.

A sob worms its way out of her throat, and her knees go weak as she sags against the door frame. But Deacon is on his feet and she’s in his arms and everything suddenly feels _okay again_ and she’s babbling _I love you_ over and over and over.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his entire frame trembling slightly. “Everything’s okay.”

Julia isn’t entirely convinced he’s speaking _just_ to her.

“Say my name again,” she whispers into his chest, “ _Please._ _Just one more time._ _”_

Deacon freezes in her arms, and Julia’s heart is in her throat because he _won’t and now she’s lost them_ both _and –_

“I love you, Jules.”

Her heart stops, and the only reason she’s still standing is because Deacon’s arms are holding her tight. Something’s wrong with her ears. There’s no way she heard those words come out of his mouth. Deacon doesn’t say 'I love you.' He’s _never_ said that.

Swallowing, her eyes slowly rise to his face. Somewhere along the way he ditched his sunglasses, and his naked gaze is watching her with such worry. It’s been _so long_ since she’s seen him like this, and never with an expression quite like the one he’s got now.

“What did you just…?” The words won’t form, no matter how she tries.

The smile he gives her is sorrowful as he leans in toward her a little, licking his lips nervously. “I said… I love you, Julia.”

She kisses him, his face in her hands, uncertain quite how she got here, but it doesn’t matter because Ryan said he loves her. He loves her. _He loves her._ _ **He** **loves** **her.**_

“I love you, too,” she pants between kisses, her heart hammering so loudly she’s positive he can hear it. “So very, very much.”

“So you keep tellin’ me, beautiful,” he murmurs, holding her.

Julia opens her mouth to retort but stops short, pressing a hand against her stomach. A rush of panic washes over her at the sensation of _wet_ streaming down her legs, and Deacon goes rigid, eyes suddenly wide and frightened.

“I…” she swallows, gripping his forearms as all the anxiety she initially felt over her pregnancy comes flooding back. “I need you to get me to Curie now.” Her voice is far calmer than it has any right to be. “The baby’s coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief note. The song mentioned here _The End of the World_ is the same one you can hear in game by Skeeter Davis. It's super pretty played on guitar.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birth is a process Deacon isn't sure he can handle.
> 
> Deacon PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, here comes the baby!
> 
> Just wanna give a quick shoutout to sunsolace for helping me with this chapter. It was being a pain in the butt.
> 
> Edit: Forgot to put this here (SORRY) but there is vague talk of corpse mutilation. It's not graphic, but it is there. Be warned.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and loved. <3

With Julia writhing in his arms, the short trek to the clinic feels like the longest of his life. Everything but her is a blur that he can’t focus on. Nothing else matters but making sure she’s going to be okay. She presses her cheek against his arm, trying even now to smile. “Ryan, i-it’s okay,” she mumbles. Her hand rests against his chest.

It’s so hard to believe that when her face twists in pain a moment later.

He’s ushered immediately back to the room Curie set up for Julia’s birth. Setting her down in that bed is one of the hardest things he’s ever done, an irrational fear coursing through him that if he lets go it’ll be the last time. He can’t quit fidgeting as he clings to her hand. Fuck, he’s shaking. He watches as Curie, along with her assistant John – when did he get here? – prepares, removing Julia’s pants and draping a clean sheet over her bent knees.

Deacon sways on his feet, clutching her hand like a lifeline.

“John,” Curie says, glancing over at Deacon with a critical eye, “please escort Monsieur Deacon to the waiting area before he faints. And make sure everyone remains calm. I will handle this.”

He nods, but Deacon won’t budge. If he leaves her now, he might never see her again. _Just like Barbara._ The very thought of it makes it hard to breathe.

“D-Deacon,” Julia murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “Go with John, okay? I’ll… be fine.” When he still hesitates, she adds, “Please, for me?”

Raking a hand lovingly through her hair, he manages to drag himself away and out of the room. John smiles politely at him, gesturing up the hallway toward the waiting area. “She is in good hands. Try not to worry.”

Deacon nods absently, wishing he could believe it. He pushes his anxiety away with a grin. “No sweat, pal. Look at me. I am the _epitome_ of calm.”

John glances toward him, a single brow raised, but he doesn’t question him further. Deacon’s glad for that. He’s always had a fondness for John, former designation Z1-14, even in spite of the Synth’s lingering formal stiffness. He can’t blame him for that, really. Living under the thumb of the Institute for the entirety of your existence would have to do something to you, change you in ways unfathomable.

Deacon truly can’t imagine what a life like that would be like, but he does know the guy is straight up courageous as hell. Without John’s help, they never would have been able to pull off freeing the Synths and the destruction of the Institute, and besides, Deacon is always appreciative of some good espionage.

The only other person in the waiting room currently is Nate. The man looks up and hones in on John. “How is she?”

John shifts a little. Deacon wonders if Nate makes him uncomfortable. Man seems to have that effect on people. “She is well. Do not worry.” After a moment, he speaks again, hands flexing at this side. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting. My name is John.”

Nate nods a little, sticking out his hand for a shake. “I’m Nate Rickson. Nice to meet you.” When John doesn’t take his, he runs it through his dark hair a bit lamely. “I… don’t remember you being here in the clinic. Been here long?”

John shakes his head as Deacon drops into a chair nearby with a sigh. “I have only just returned to Sanctuary. It seems that my timing was fortunate. I owe Julia a great deal and wish to assist her as I am able.”

The former soldier studies the man, but whatever he might find there remains unsaid. Nate grins, if a bit unsteadily. “Seems like Jules’s made quite the name for herself.”

John agrees readily with him. “She has done much to make the Commonwealth a better place.”

He glances down at the floor, his expression saddening. “Jules always did like helping everyone. Glad that hasn’t changed.”

“She is a remarkable woman, and I consider myself lucky to know her,” John says before stepping away, their conversation at an end.

Nate falls into his own thoughts, and Deacon is perfectly content to let him be. The less he gets noticed by Mr. Sleuthy Eagle-eye the better as far as he’s concerned. He’s never really had to deal with anyone who could see through his bluster so easily. He feels raw, like an exposed nerve, around him.

John takes up post behind the counter in the corner, leaning against the wall as he watches over the room like a silent gargoyle. Muffled voices filter down the hallway, vague moans and whimpers with indistinguishable words spoken in between. Deacon can’t stand sitting still a moment longer, flying out of his seat and begins pacing around the room. Why isn’t anyone else here yet? Where’s _Shaun?_ Didn’t he mention going out to Red Rocket with Duncan? Was that today? Shit, he can’t remember. He can’t _think_ except that Jules is hurting, and he can’t help her _._

Deacon wrings his hands together, unable to focus over the sounds he keeps hearing from the birthing room. He suddenly feels too hot, the room is too small, and dammit to fuck, he did this to her. It’s all his fault. What if she dies? He can’t fucking _do_ this without her. If Jules disappears like Barbara, he just… he _can’t._

His pacing increases, anxiety ratcheting ever higher.

On his next pass around the room, a strong hand grabs his elbow and tugs him down into a chair. Jules’s husband scowls, and Deacon flinches at the onslaught certainly waiting for him. All the anger he expected before is sure to come flying now. After all, his wife could _die_ , and it’s all Deacon’s fault.

How could he ever think this baby was a _good_ idea?

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor like that,” Nate says, complexion several shades paler than Deacon remembers. His voice is unnervingly calm as he continues. “Besides, it won’t do anything but exhaust you.”

He frowns at the younger man, barely able to keep his seat. It still boggles his mind that Nate doesn’t hate him. Husbands aren’t supposed to be okay with affairs or the lovers involved, and what he’s got going with Jules might as well be. Deacon banishes those thoughts and tries to relax, but he can’t keep still. Nervous energy bubbles out of him, his leg bouncing restlessly.

Nate watches with tired eyes. The soldier sends him a commiserating smile. “This is your first time, right?”

Deacon isn’t really sure what he’s getting at. “What?”

“Never had kids, I mean. Jules made it sound like you hadn’t,” Nate clarifies, resting a gentle hand on his trembling leg.

Deacon flinches at the touch, thinking abruptly of Barbara, and the secret he’s never been able to give voice, even to Jules. That he came so close to the family he wanted. That his sweet wife with her killer Old World smile had been heavily pregnant when the Claws came calling. That he’d been forced to watch as they –

He clamps his eyes shut and pushes the memory away, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat before he retches.

Nate’s hand squeezes his knee slightly, and though the touch isn’t exactly welcome, Deacon can’t muster the will to shove it away. “Try to relax. Take it from me, she’s gonna need you, and you wanna be there for her, right? Just take a deep breath.”

He sobers slightly, swallowing down most of his nervous energy with a few deep breaths. Without the distractions overwhelming his senses, Deacon realizes with a start he isn’t wearing his sunglasses and blinks, naked gaze meeting Nate’s. He must have forgotten them in his room during all the commotion. How the hell did he not notice before _now?_

“Right. Yeah. Deep breaths.” It’s impossible to hold that gaze without the barrier his shades provide.

Nate smiles, pulling away from Deacon and steepling his hands together between his knees. “Jules is tough. You said it yourself.” He swallows, adam’s apple bobbling hypnotically. “She’ll be fine.”

Deacon merely nods, wishing he believed that. He _wants_ to. But he’s seen how it can all go wrong in the blink of an eye more times that he cares to count, and things have been playing out golden for him far more than he deserves lately. That other shoe is poised to drop any moment, and right now is prime shoe dropping time.

He tries to imagine a life without her and feels vaguely ill at the prospect.

Her husband groans and shifts in his seat, hand working methodically at his right knee, and the act draws Deacon’s attention. He idly wonders how much Nate’s old injury bothers him. Nate’s steady gaze catches and holds his own. “You really ought to leave those sunglasses off. You look better without them.”

That causes Deacon to flush and look away, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. He can’t help but side-eye the man next to him, but it’s far more obvious than it would be with his sunglasses. Most wouldn’t notice, but Nate clearly does. Deacon _hates_ it. This guy is weird, and it has him far more fascinated than he truly ought to be. He _should_ be running for the hills right about now, not sitting here being all buddy-buddy. Still, he’s curious if all prewar people were like Jules and Nate. God, he can’t even fucking imagine a world full of people like them. A part of him aches at the fact he was born 200 years too late to ever know.

“It’ll be okay,” her soldier says, brows furrowed together. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “It’ll be _okay._ You’ll see. _”_

Deacon wonders who exactly he’s trying to convince. Dread starts creeping back up his spine again watching Nate attempting to hide his worry. He feels a wave of pity for the man beside him as thoughts of Barbara and the child he never knew rush back up, but they’re stamped down quickly before he starts drowning.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, clamping his eyes shut. “Don’t have to pep talk me again, solider boy. Pretty sure I’m old enough to be _your_ dad. I’m good, man. Really.”

Nate huffs a small laugh. “Sorry. I just… know what it’s like. I want – ” he sighs, his hands balling into fists on his knees. “I want to be supportive, y’know. Whatever Jules and I had… it’s different now. Even if I was what she wanted, there’s no way I could do anything for her right now.”

Deacon notices with alarm that Nate’s shaking so much he’s nearly vibrating. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to say to that. “C’mon,” he says as jovially as he can because bullshitting and jokes are all he knows. “Don’t be like that. You’re the whole package, pal. One bonafide tall drink of purified water. Who _wouldn’t_ want something like that?”

That snaps Nate back, his eyes widening as color rises on his cheeks, and holy hell if Deacon isn’t surprised at how much he likes that look. Nate opens his mouth to respond when the clinic door flies open.

Shaun is there with the MacCreadys right behind. He eyes the both of them with wetness threatening to fall, and he flings himself toward them without a second thought, managing to wrap a man in each arm. Somehow, no one’s heads clunk together.

“RJ said the baby’s coming!” Shaun gasps. “Is Momma – is everything okay?”

Deacon recovers before Nate, who is still staring at his son in wide-eyed shock. “Yeah, squirt,” he says, bravado high in his voice. “Your mom’s great.” He manages to elbow Nate in the side. “Ain’t that right, Nate ole buddy?”

He recoups with a speed that leaves Deacon impressed, though he shouldn’t be surprised at this point. “Y-yeah, champ. She’s doing great.” Nate wraps Shaun up in a hug as Deacon manages to extract himself. Shaun doesn’t seem to mind, clinging to his father, and frankly, Nate needs Shaun’s affection more than Deacon right now, anyway. “Don’t worry, buddy. Mom’s fine.”

“Y-you’re sure sh-she’s okay, Nate?” Shaun’s voice wobbles dangerously as he pulls away and rubs his eyes. Deacon’s still surprised at how quickly Shaun can fall into child-like behavior at times like these.

“Course I am, champ,” he replies easily, tweaking Shaun’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger. Deacon again finds himself amazed with how easily the man can twist himself into what’s needed at any given moment. He’d be a hell of a spy. Might even give Deacon a run for his money. “I’d never lie to you.”

Shaun looks away from Nate and turns to Deacon for confirmation, but he stops short, staring. He walks over to him and thumbs at the corner of his sleeve. “Dad, what’s wrong with your clothes?”

Deacon doesn’t miss the way Nate flinches a little when Shaun calls him ‘Dad.’ He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, don’t worry about it, kiddo. It’s nothing. Got a little too zealous stomping in some puddles.” He hadn’t even realized his shirtfront is stained from carrying Julia all the way to the clinic. He forces himself not to think too hard about it. Shaun looks skeptical but doesn’t question further.

“Is Julia really gonna be okay?” Duncan asks softly, his brown eyes wide and frightened. He’s not entirely sure when the boy wandered over to him.

Deacon swallows down his own worries and herds the boys away. Nate looks overwhelmed, and Deacon’s willing to give him a moment. “Sure she is, Duncaroo. Having a baby is hard work and it takes a while, but Curie’s with her. We all know she’s the best.” He glances toward John, knowing the man is listening. “Isn’t that right, John?”

The blue-eyed man nods with a smile. “Of course. Everything is fine.”

Duncan manages a weak smile at that, looking relieved. “Okay.” Deacon isn’t entirely sure when the boy starting trusting his word so much and feels vaguely guilty over that.

Deacon notices MacCready’s wandered over to Nate, filling the void Shaun left, and the pair are huddled with heads together murmuring in hushed tones. MacCready reaches over and hesitantly touches Nate’s arm, and Nate seems to find his composure again. Deacon never expected MacCready to be so worried about Julia’s husband. The little sniper is just full of surprises.

The younger boy looks around nervously before tugging on Shaun’s hand. “Hey, Shaun. Can we… can we go outside now? I don’t – ” Duncan trails off, looking helplessly at his friend. Deacon can’t blame the kid for not liking doctors. He’s not overly fond of them himself.

Shaun glances toward the room where his mother is, and Deacon can see the fear and worry creeping over his face and wishes there was something he could do to rid him of it. “Shaun, buddy, it’s your choice, but there’s gonna be a lot of waiting. If you want to go outside for a little while, it’s okay. I’ll make sure to come get you the second the baby’s here if you do.”

He considers his options before shaking his head and turns to his younger friend. “Sorry, Duncan, but I wanna stay here. I can’t leave Momma.”

Duncan nods slowly at that, glancing around the room nervously. “Then, I’ll stay, too,” he replies, puffing up his chest a little. “I wanna be here for Julia.”

Shaun smiles at his friend before turning back to Deacon, and he hugs him tightly around the middle. It’s a gesture Deacon doesn’t hesitate to return. “I’m glad you’re back, Dad,” he murmurs into his shirt.

Patting his head, which is a _lot_ higher up than he remembers, he holds Shaun close, glad for the company. “Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”

Once the boys settle down to themselves, Deacon isn’t really sure what to do with himself. Nate and MacCready are both still deep in conversation by the look of it, and he doesn’t have the heart to interrupt. He wanders over by the window facing toward the hallway and leans against the wall. He closes his eyes and focuses on just breathing.

Jules will be fine. She’s survived Coursers, the Switchboard and Ticon, and the Fall of the Institute. She chased him across the Commonwealth and dragged him back like it wasn’t a big deal. She’s weathered the return of her husband, and all the bullshit that’s followed. This isn’t any different. She isn’t like Barbara. The Claws are gone, and everything is perfectly fine.

If only Deacon could accept that, everything would be golden.

As time drifts on seemingly without end, more faces file into the waiting area. How long does labor last? Deacon has no idea. All this waiting is grating against the little control he’s managed to maintain, and he isn’t sure how much longer it’s going to last. He swallows heavily, crossing his arms.

At least he has sunglasses and a clean shirt now; bless Preston Garvey for bringing him both. _You’ve got other things to worry about right now,_ he’d said with a smile. He could have kissed the man.

The sounds from the birthing room have grown and faded in waves, but no one has emerged. Deacon’s willing to believe that no news is good news and pushes away the horrible thoughts attempting to creep in. After a particularly loud scream that leaves most of the room wincing, the door slides open and Curie calls out. “John, I need your assistance, please.”

Deacon’s heart jumps at how apprehensive she sounds. Curie never sounds worried. Worried doctors are a _bad_ sign. He’s a beat behind John before he even realizes it. Preston, the ever vigilant peacekeeper, blocks his path. “Get out of the way,” Deacon growls. Flashes of memory play behind the lids of his eyes with each blink, and he feels ill. He can’t stop thinking of Barbara, and all that blood. Sometimes, he can still see it on his hands, no matter how hard he scrubs. Can still feel the cold tiny body of their child, so mutilated he couldn’t even tell its sex.

“Just… calm down, Deacon,” Preston murmurs, hands raised in supplication. “I know you’re worried, but we have to let them work. Getting in the way won’t help anyone.”

Deacon’s hands ball into fists, knowing that the man is right, but it still makes him angry. Angry that he can’t do anything, that he’s fucking helpless when it matters the most. He allows Preston to herd him back without a fight. Turning, he’s surprised to find Nate a few steps behind him. Her husband is pale bordering on sickly, sweat shining heavily on his brow, and he’s staring at Deacon with absolute terror plain on his face.

Deacon knows he ought to say something. He ought to reassure him, or make some snarky joke, but he’s run dry. He’s got nothing; he can barely breathe. Nate’s cracking at the seams, and all Deacon can do is watch him limp out the door. He understands the urge to run, to hide away from everything. No one better. A few moments later, both Danse and MacCready head after him. At least he won’t be alone.

He wanders over to the corner where Shaun is. The boy’s withdrawn, absently picking at a hole in his jeans with a thumbnail that’s been bitten ragged. “Hey, kiddo,” Deacon greets once he’s gotten a hold of himself, sitting down beside him.

Shaun doesn’t answer him immediately, and the pair both wince at the muffled scream that rings out in the dragging silence. Shaun grabs his hand and squeezes roughly. “Momma, is she… will she really be okay, Dad?”

Resting his free hand on top of Shaun’s, Deacon puts on the bravest face he can. “She’ll be fine, squirt. Your mom’s a tough lady. This is nothing compared to tracking you down.”

Shaun looks away, biting his bottom lip with closed eyes. “I’m scared.”

 _Me, too,_ Deacon thinks but decides not to voice that particular worry. Duncan leans over to Shaun and pats his friend awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Shaun. Deacon said so.”

Shaun doesn’t say anything more, but he clings to Deacon’s hand like a lifeline. He certainly isn’t opposed. It’s nice, having someone with him. Someone that cares. After Barbara, he had been so achingly alone he’d almost drowned in the sorrow. He probably would have, if not for the Railroad.

Time drags on, though Deacon isn’t sure just how long. It must be getting pretty late since the room has cleared of most of its occupants, and the sun sank below the horizon hours ago. Nate came back some time later with MacCready behind him, eyes red rimmed, but he manages to smile at Deacon and Shaun. Deacon thinks he might come over when he hesitates, but the man decides against it, sitting in a corner alone. MacCready, however, does amble over, dropping into a chair beside Deacon.

“Any word?” he asks quietly, glancing over at him.

“No, nothing,” Deacon replies, eyeing Nate from the corner of his eye. “Is he okay?”

The younger sniper leans back in his chair, stretching roughly with a sigh. “Dunno. Maybe? Dude’s got a lot going on.” MacCready cuts his eyes over to Deacon. “What about you, man? You okay?”

He thinks of his wife and the baby he couldn’t save and swallows roughly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

MacCready snorts but says nothing more. He cranes over the back of his chair, threading his hands behind his head. He keeps glancing nervously down the hall. “Hey, Duncan,” he calls, “Did you wanna head home? It’s pretty late. You must be tired.”

The young boy looks back and forth between his father and his friend. “No, Dad,” he says, resolute. “I want to stay here with Shaun. ‘Sides, I’m not _tired.”_ He’s betrayed by the massive yawn that follows.

His father nods in understanding, expression softening. “Okay, buddy. We’ll stay as long as you want.”

Shaun frowns at Duncan. “You don’t have to stay,” he protests, griping Deacon’s hand tightly. “You should get some sleep.”

“Julia’s my friend!” Duncan cries loudly, hands balling into fists. “I want to stay to make sure she’s okay!”

Shaun blinks owlishly at the younger boy before nodding. “O-okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought you might wanna go.”

Duncan flushes, shaking his head, and silence falls over them. Deacon keeps glancing toward Nate and has an idea. “Hey, Shaun,” Deacon murmurs. “Could you do me a favor?”

He looks up, perplexed. “I guess so. What is it?”

“Think you could go sit with Nate for a while? I think he could use the company.”

Shaun leans forward in his chair, eyeing the miserable looking man sitting across the room. It looks like he might be praying. “Okay, Dad. I can do that.”

Duncan stands with Shaun hurriedly. “I’ll go with you!” Deacon watches both boys walk over and smiles a little when Nate brightens at their presence.

“Jeez, you’re both _so_ weird,” MacCready says, side-eyeing Deacon.

He raises a brow, easily meeting MacCready’s gaze. “Mac, ole pal, I don’t have a clue what you mean.”

“I haven’t heard him say the first bad thing about you,” he continues, staring up at the ceiling as he tilts his chair back. “And considering it’s _you_ we’re talking about, I’m just fu – reaking surprised. Now, you’re sending over Shaun to keep him company? The hell, dude? Aren’t you fighting over her?”

Deacon shrugs, honestly unsure about the whole situation. Most people in this situation would be fighting, but Deacon just doesn’t have it in him. Doesn’t really seem like Nate does either. “What? You’d rather be breaking up a fight right about now?”

He snorts, rocking precariously on the back legs of the chair. “Man, and get in the middle of a punchfest with you two? Pfft, who do you think I am, Preston?”

“You wouldn’t rescue me? I’m _hurt,”_ Deacon says with mock offense.

MacCready rolls his eyes. “I’d be more likely to rescue _him,_ if I had to choose.”

Mouth forming into a thin line, Deacon taps the front leg of the sniper’s chair with his foot. MacCready’s arms cartwheel comically for balance as his chair slams back down on the floor loudly. Shaun, Duncan, and Nate all look over with varying expressions of annoyance. MacCready glares at him. “You as – idiot. Now isn’t the time, y’know.”

Deacon just shrugs, innocent expression on his face. “Don’t have any idea what you mean.” He’s pretty sure MacCready’s almost to his Deacon daily limit, and sure enough, the sniper stands and wanders over to Nate and the boys. It suits Deacon just fine. He doesn’t _dislike_ MacCready, per se, he just doesn’t enjoy dealing with him except in small doses, and it’s definitely a mutual feeling.

Nate seems to like the sniper well enough, Deacon notices, and hey, more power to him.

Danse wanders in a few minutes later, and Deacon suppresses a groan. Things have been tense with the former paladin since his ‘escape attempt,’ and Deacon never actually got around to patching things up. Not that Danse was ever someone he’d have considered a friend, really, but he’s not a bad guy, especially after Julia rescued him from the Brotherhood. He hopes silently that the man will see fit to leave him alone, but noting the look of purpose that’s etched onto his face, Deacon fears he has no such luck.

The stern man wanders over, stiffly standing in front of him. “Deacon.”

He glances up, acting as if he just became aware of his presence. “Oh, hey, Danse. How’s it hanging?”

Danse shifts on his feet, seemingly uncomfortable, but his gaze never falters. “I think it’s about time we talked, Deacon.”

 _Fuck._ “Now’s really not a good time, Danse. Can we do this later?” Deacon doesn’t feel up to talking out the drugging incident, especially when Julia could be dying.

Danse pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “I don’t mean about _that._ Now isn’t the time. I wanted… I want to talk to you about Julia.”

“Um, okay. Shoot.”

“Are you going to stay?” Danse asks, expression neutral. “Or do you still intend to leave?”

Deacon’s eyebrows rise above the frames of his sunglasses. Not really a question he expected to get from Danse. Rubbing the palms of his hands roughly against his jeaned knees, he sighs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Is that the truth?” Danse asks with suspicion.

“Yeah,” he responds roughly. “Scout’s Honor.”

After studying him for a moment, Danse seems satisfied and relaxes a little. “Good. I’m glad you’ve finally decided to come to your senses. I was worried you wouldn’t for a while.”

Deacon grins. “Awww, you were worried about little old me? I’m touched, Danse.”

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Deacon,” Danse reprimands him.

He shrugs at that, unsure of what to say. Joking is easier than facing the truth. Easier than facing the very real possibility that Julia will never come out of that room alive. Wetting his lips nervously, he glances up at Danse, still standing over him. “Sorry, Danse.”

The former paladin frowns. “What?”

Swallowing heavily, he repeats himself. “Sorry. About the whole… drugging thing. I wasn’t trying to – I just don’t handle being watched well.”

Danse’s eyes widen in surprise before he relaxes into a smile. He takes a seat beside Deacon, staring at his feet for a while. “I… accept your apology. For the record, I do want to discuss this matter further, but at a more appropriate time. I’m glad you’re still here, for Julia.”

Deacon nods, staring down at the ground. “Yeah. Thanks, Danse.”

He nods in acknowledgment, and the pair fall silent. All in all, that conversation went better than Deacon expected. He idly wonders if he isn’t dreaming because today has just been surreal.

It isn’t until the wee hours of the morning that anyone emerges from Julia’s room. Deacon, not being one to sleep much anyway, is the first to notice Curie’s tired presence. He freezes at the blood clinging to her attire. Is blood normal? It must be. He swallows, unable to rid himself of a suddenly parched throat. They would have mentioned if something went wrong, right? She wouldn’t be so normal if Jules was hurt – or worse _dead_ – would she?

She smiles weakly, beckoning Deacon over. He’s there in a flash, nerves suddenly humming. “How is she? Everything okay?” The rest of the room has woken by this point, waiting for news with bated breath. Shaun’s by his side, griping his hand. He hadn’t even seen him move.

Curie nods. “Everything is fine, Monsieur Deacon. Julia and the baby are both healthy. Come, both of you. See for yourself.”

Nate catches his gaze, and relief is plain on his face. “What about Nate?” Deacon hears himself asking.

The doctor frowns slightly, an apologetic air. “The room is too small for more than two visitors at a time. I am sorry.”

“G-go on,” Nate murmurs hoarsely, giving him a thumbs up. “You’re the dad. I’m fine.” He certainly doesn’t look fine, and Deacon tries not to feel too guilty for that. MacCready seems more than willing to take care of him right now, though.

He and Shaun walk down the hall together, and Deacon is certainly glad for the company. It makes it easier to dismiss all the horrible thoughts rushing toward the surface, the fear clawing that Jules will be dead, no matter what Curie said. Shaun squeezes his hand. “Everything’s okay, Dad.”

He nods, opening the door slowly. Tired green eyes greet them as Julia smiles. Her hair is matted with sweat, and she looks utterly exhausted but to Deacon, she’s never looked more beautiful. More _alive._ “There’s my boys,” she murmurs weakly, gesturing to the bundle in the bassinet beside her. “C’mere and meet the baby.”

Shaun rushes over to her side as John murmurs softly to be gentle. The young boy smiles tearfully at his mother, leaning over to hug her tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay! And I have a new sibling!” He turns toward the baby as Deacon walks to Julia’s side.

She automatically reaches out and takes his hand. God, she looks so tired. He presses a kiss to the back of it as Shaun babbles excitedly beside him. “Hey Handsome.”

“Hi there, Beautiful. Where you been all my life?” he manages, brushing some hair from her eyes.

Julia smiles, leaning into his touch with a sigh. “I’m not going anywhere. Go say hi to our daughter.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. _Daughter._ He has a _daughter._ By her side in an instant, Deacon’s staring down at the bundle as Curie and John both step out for them to have a moment alone. Pink cheeks and pale skin with tufts of ruddy hair peek out from the blanket swaddled around his child, and Deacon wonders if this is what heaven might be like.

He hesitantly reaches out, brushing a fingertip against her cheek, a delighted noise ripped from him when his baby bumps against his touch. “God, Jules, she’s beautiful.”

Julia hums softly, clearly drifting toward sleep as she blinks owlishly. “Wanna hold her?”

Shaun perks up at that. “Oh, I do!”

She laughs softly. “Okay, baby. Do you remember what I told you?”

He nods. “Yeah, make sure to support the head and cradle her in my arms, and don’t drop.”

“That’s my boy. Go ahead, Shaun,” Julia encourages. He needs no other encouragement and scoops the baby up expertly. Deacon’s never seen the kid look so happy. He gently rocks her back and forth in his arms, cooing softly. The baby yawns, blinking momentarily before falling back asleep.

“What about a name?” he asks, glancing up toward his mother.

Julia looks to Deacon, and he feels a little guilty. They never actually talked about names, what with all the commotion the past couple of months. “I was thinking Eleanor, after my mother,” she says hesitantly, watching Deacon.

He grins, taking her hand and squeezing. “I love it.”

Shaun beams at that, wiggling his finger in his sister’s face. “Hear that? Your name’s Ellie. I’m gonna be the best big brother ever. You’ll see.” He then yawns so much his jaw trembles.

Julia frowns at that. “Shaun, honey, go get some sleep, okay? We can see each other some more tomorrow.” She gestures with her arms. “Hand me Ellie, and go on.”

He pouts at that, but with a stern look from her, doesn’t protest. Slowly passing Ellie over with the utmost care, he hugs Julia and Deacon both tight. “Love you,” he says and heads back out to the waiting room.

Julia cradles their baby close, and Deacon thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful. She glances up at him. “You want to hold her?”

Deacon hesitates at that. What if he drops her, or she starts to cry or… there are any number of horrible things that might happen if he holds her. He has no idea what to do with a _baby._ “I…” he swallows, unable to manage another word.

She chuckles softly. “It’s okay. Just do what Shaun did. You won’t drop her. She’s yours, too.”

Then suddenly, she’s in his arms, and he’s staring at her with eyes the size of saucers. His little girl. The family he thought was always beyond his reach. _Oh, Barbs, I wish you could see this._

“Ryan?” she whispers, and it takes him a second to realize it’s Julia calling to him. She’s reaching out to him, fingertips brushing his cheek. “You’re crying.”

He blinks, wetness slipping down his face that he hadn’t even realized was there. He laughs. “Yeah. Guess I am.” But for the first time in a long while, everything feels right in the world.

Julia suddenly gasps, eyes unfocused as she looks at him. Her voice wavers. "R-Ryan, I - something's... something's  _wrong."_

He yells for Curie, panic rising up his throat. He presses his daughter close to him, backing away as Curie flies into the room. "She's in cardiac arrest. John! Get him out of here!" she barks, leaning over the now mostly unconscious woman. Deacon is shoved out of the room, baby still in his arms, panic gripping him as the door slams closed. Fear chokes him as he stares at the bundle in his arms. He can't bring himself to move away from that door.

"Dad?" Shaun asks hesitantly, voice trembling. When he glances up, everyone is standing there behind him with worried eyes. "Is Mom okay?"

Deacon can't stop the heart wrenching sound that crawls out of his throat as tears pour because, honestly, he doesn't  _know._  


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate shatters under the weight of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> I initially had other plans for this chapter, but then the idea of holotapes took me and I ran with it. (Sorry, not sorry)
> 
> Also, a little bit more building of Nate's character here. Poor guy's having a hard time of it.
> 
> Sorry it's so short! >.>
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated and loved. :D

Nate refuses to stay in the clinic, deciding without the consent of anyone else to stay in the old house he once shared with Jules. Because who the fuck’s going to stop him? Anyone that tries is going to get a punch to the face. Nate is past the point of giving a damn. Wandering inside, waves of memory wash over him. The once immaculate living room and kitchen are a dingy rotting replica of the one he left just weeks ago. _Centuries,_ he corrects queasily.

His chest aches, the realization of just how fucked everything is hitting him full force. The furniture is different, cobbled together pieces that don’t quite match. The fridge door is gone, as is the old dining room table. The counters show every day of their age, dust caking the surface. The floor is barren, tiles destroyed between the threadbare rugs decorating the floor. The TV is gone, as is their holotape player. The couch is different, tattered. Broken.

Just like everything else in this shithole world.

Closing his eyes, he can almost hear Codsworth telling Jules the coffee’s perfect temperature, and Jules’s tinkling laugh as she thanks the Mr. Handy.

“I look nervous, don’t I?” he murmurs, hands balling into fists. A sickness rises from his gut as he clamps his eyes closed. The Bombs are coming and the World is ending, and he can’t _breathe._

He flees down the hallway, past the bathroom, that while serviceable, is still _dilapidated_ _._ Past the laundry that’s in tatters. Their bedroom, like everything else, is a shattered shell of its former glory. The comforter is threadbare, the bed frame pieced back together from bits of wood from who the hell knows where. In spite of his best efforts, fragments of memory invade his senses. Quiet moans in the night, breathy sighs, gentle touches. His body aches in the absence of it, a longing for sensation he’ll never have again.

Nate starts to shake. His chest seizes in the face of just how _much_ he’s lost. Everything is gone. His friends. His parents. His brother. His country. His whole _world._

And now Julia.

Hell, he practically _gave_ her up. To a man that Nate isn’t totally convinced _isn’t_ at least a little crazy. But Nate understands that, staring at the ruins of his old home, that _crazy_ might just be the most appropriate response to a place like this. Clamping his eyes shut, he wonders if maybe being saved was a crueler fate that just letting him die.

Clutching the edge of the dresser beside him, he attempts to reign himself in. It’s so difficult, breath hitching with each exhalation. How can he weather this? The gaping maw in his chest is growing with each passing moment, and he fears he’s going to be devoured by the sorrow. Swallowing roughly, he blinks away unwelcome moisture. He notices for the first time the Pip-Boy resting on top of the dresser before him. He didn't realize Jules had this.

There are also 5 holotapes scattered beside it. One isn’t marked. Another has writing that has faded over the years, but Nate recognizes it immediately. He made that with sweet baby Shaun for Jules just a few days before the Bombs; he never had the chance to give it to her. So how…? Shaking his head, he realizes it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. The other three each have a name written on them in Jules’s precise strokes. One says ‘Deacon.’ Another says ‘Shaun.’ The last is addressed to him.

Nate hesitates for a moment before strapping the device to his arm. He contemplates listening to the tape marked with her lover’s name, but that feels like a step too far. A betrayal of trust. His own tape slides into the play deck with a crisp snap. He has to take a deep breath before he can muster the will to press play. It’s Julia’s voice, but that isn’t a surprise. He knew it would be.

_Hi, honey._

_I never mentioned making this to you because I didn’t want you to worry, but… I wanted to be prepared this time. In case… well, in case the worst happened. Hopefully, you’ll never have to hear this._

_It’s been one hell of a time, hasn’t it?_

_Since waking up from the Vault, I’ve always felt guilty that I was the one that made it. I was the one who survived. Out of the two of us, you were certainly more prepared for a life like this than I was. Sometimes I wondered how things would’ve been different if I’d been holding Shaun that day. Better, surely. You could have handled this in ways I’d never hope to. Wouldn't have made such a damned mess of it all._

_And then when I found out you weren’t dead… I –_

_There was so much more to feel guilty over. I didn’t know how I was going to explain any of this to you. I expected you to hate me for leaving you behind. But… you didn’t. You were still that wonderful man I fell in love with and married. I was the only one who had changed._

There’s a long pause in the tape, and he thinks that’s all there is. Bitterly, he reaches to eject it when Julia’s voice rings out again. The tone of it fractures something deep in his chest, and the urge to hold her in his arms is overwhelming.

_Listen, I… there’s something I need to tell you. You should know, and I don’t think I can tell you otherwise. Maybe because I’m a coward, or maybe there just wasn’t enough time. I hope you won’t think less of me for it after. It’s… about Shaun. I… lied to you when you first woke up._

_The Shaun you know is… well, he’s a Synth copy of the child I birthed. When I first made it into the Institute, I met its Director. A man by the name of Father. B-baby, that man… he was our little boy, and he was_ sixty years old. _I was too late. I was always too late._

 _Shaun was taken, and he grew up without us. Without_ love. _He was brainwashed into believing the Institute was the only hope. That the surface was dead and not worth anyone’s time. He died still believing it. Cancer, beyond all hope of treatment. I… watched our son_ die, _and I destroyed the only home he ever knew_. _My baby went to his grave cursing my name, and there is nothing I can do to change that._

_I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to tell you that. Please, don’t take it out on Shaun. Don’t treat him differently. He’s still our son. Our second chance to get it right. If you… Shaun knows all about this. He can answer any questions you have._

_You were always so much stronger than I was. Live. Please, live and be happy._

_I love you, Nate._

_I love you, and I’m sorry._

The tape fizzles out, and Nate stares blankly at the Pip-Boy for a long time. His eyes finally slip closed, lower lip trembling slightly. Pressing a hand over his eyes, he silently weeps. For the family he’s lost. For the child he never knew. For all the pain he never realized Julia carried with her.

Why the fuck did she even tell him?

He staggers backward into the bed and collapses onto it. Staring into nothing, Nate just breathes. Attempting anything more would shatter him, and he can’t. Not now. The former soldier has no idea how he’s going to piece his life back together after this. It’s like losing Shaun all over again.

 

A hand on his shoulder startles him away from nightmares, and he lashes out, twisting the person’s arm behind their back, his soldier’s training kicking in as his consciousness is sluggishly pulled back from dreams.

“Ow, _ow, ow, ow,”_ the voice yells, writing in his iron grip. “Fucking hell, man, _let go!”_

It takes a moment to realize who that voice belongs to, and he instantly releases his grasp. He swipes a hand over his face. “RJ. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

The smaller man dusts himself off, rolling his shoulder roughly and wincing. “Holy shit, dude. Didn’t think you’d act like that.” RJ looks him over and apparently finds something. His expression twists with pity Nate doesn’t want. “Hey, you… uh, wanna talk?”

“ _No_ _,”_ he snaps, ripping the Pip-Boy clumsily off his arm and tossing it on the bed. “Leave me the hell alone.”

RJ flinches back, but he doesn’t go, much to Nate’s chagrin. “Fuck man, look, I get it. Stop acting like you’re the only one hurting right now.”

“I don’t need your bullshit. Just get the fuck out!” Nate roars, on his feet and towering over the smaller man. Deep down, he knows he’s being an ass, but he doesn’t give a shit. These people don’t care about _him._ Not really.

RJ doesn’t cower back, merely frowns and shoves him roughly away. “Whatever. I don’t have time to deal with your shit. Later.” Tossing his hands up, the man is gone.

Nate deflates, falling back on the bed with head in his hands. His knee throbs, but he barely notices over the lancing stabs in his chest thrumming in time to the beating of his heart. A reminder that he is still alive. So agonizingly alive.

 _Go, Jules. You’ll regret it if you don’t._ Those last words he said to her echo in the confines of his mind. _Why_ didn’t he tell her he loved her? Why?!

Nate wants to laugh at just how stupid he is. His eyes drift skyward, but he can’t bring himself to pray. No one’s listening, anyway. He wishes Bobby was here. Wishes he’d died in that Vault. Wishes that he didn’t wake up to _this._ This hell.

Melancholy thoughts surge to the forefront of his mind, and he can’t push them away. No one would miss him. Not really. He has no life here. No friends. The only thing he is to these people is Julia’s dead husband, back from the grave. A breathing reminder of a life she left behind.

Curling up on the bed, Nate focuses on the steady ache of his battered limbs and tries to _forget._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse tries to make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> I tried my best, but I still find Danse hard to write. I think I kind of hate it. >.< Maybe hate's too strong a word, but it's not my favorite chapter, though Danse and Nate really needed some interaction on-screen. Hopefully, it's believable. Also, I realized I have neglected giving Danse a first name (because lulz I always thought Danse was his first name. Yes, I know. I'm terrible). Let's just pretend he prefers going by Danse, mk?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always loved! <3 
> 
> I love all my readers! Thanks for hanging around guys! :3
> 
> Edit: I tweaked around a few little things with this chapter to fit a little better with Chapter 17. Doesn't change the overall chapter. Also, gave Cutler a first name. :D

It’s a quiet morning in Sanctuary Hills, most of its residents still snug in their beds. The only exceptions to this are the night watch and Saul Danse, former Brotherhood of Steel Paladin. He exhales roughly through his nose as he makes his way to Julia’s home.

When MacCready had stopped him late yesterday, worried for the newest member of Julia’s band (or perhaps the oldest?), Danse hadn’t been terribly surprised at the turn of events. Nate Rickson had the world resting on his shoulders; it was only a matter of time before he shattered beneath the weight. Danse is surprised it took this long. He understands that sort of grief all too well. After all, if not for the support of his friends, he would have drowned in his own.

He wants to be there for Nate. This sort of trauma isn’t one that can be weathered alone, or more specifically, _shouldn’t_ be.

The house is silent as he enters as Shaun and Deacon are both elsewhere for the time being. Danse is glad Deacon finally got his head on straight. It was certainly without a moment to spare. The former paladin was beginning to chafe under the responsibility of dealing with him and his patented form of bullshit for hours on end. For all that he likes him, the man is trying the best of days, and lately as been anything but best.

Danse is careful not to disturb his surroundings and pointedly doesn’t acknowledge them. Julia is as dear as family, but he refuses to think about her. Not now. Not when he needs full control of his faculties. If he’s right, dealing with Nate will be an ordeal for all involved, but he can’t leave him to wallow in misery. There’s nothing down that path but a spiraling descent into agony. One he well knows.

Stopping at the closed door to Julia’s bedroom, Danse can’t bring himself to turn the knob. What can he say? How can he hope to pull a man he barely knows back from the brink? Closing his eyes, his hands curl into fists. Platitudes are easy but ultimately meaningless. ‘I’m sorry’ fixes nothing.

_Dammit._

_What are you doing standin’ around for, Saul? Go on! Get in there. You can do this,_ Cutler’s ghost murmurs. Danse can almost feel the friendly shove at his shoulder.

He resists the urge to turn. Wade Cutler isn’t there. He won’t ever be there again. Danse made sure of that, and while he’s at peace with that particular demon, the thought still bites. The handle is cool in his bare hand, the door squeaking as it opens.

“Nate,” Danse says, eyes zeroing in on the man curled up in bed. The former paladin’s gaze softens at the sight, reminding him of a time when he believed he had nothing. _Was_ nothing.

“Go _away_ , Danse,” the man murmurs, voice lacking any real heat. He just sounds tired, so incredibly weary. A shattered fragment parading as a man.

Stepping into the room, Danse steels himself for the fight certain to come. He can feel it building in the air. “I can’t do that.”

Nate turns, gaze haunted and slightly feral, but Danse expected as much. “Why the hell not? Don’t any of you people get it? I don’t want to talk.”

He swallows roughly, pushing back the memories trying to rush to the surface. Studying Julia’s husband, Danse notes the deep smattering of dark coloring the hollows of his eyes, the emptiness yawning in his gaze. “And I’m not willing to allow you to wallow in misery. On your feet, soldier.”

Nate flinches, his hands balling into fists, and he grits his teeth. “In case you _forgot,_ my wife is dead! Go shell out your pity on someone else. I don’t need it or _want_ it.”

Danse grimaces, his chest twisting at the harsh words. “Julia _isn’t_ dead. She’s unconscious.” He stops, unwilling to entertain the prospect of this being his friend’s deathbed, and how it would change everything. “Even if she was, do you think she’d want you to just _give up?”_

“Not even Curie knows if she’ll wake up again.” Her husband’s gaze flickers, eyes growing bright before he turns away. His hand trembles as he runs it through his hair. “The hell do you care anyway? I’m not your friend.”

The comment stings, but it isn’t necessarily untrue. They haven’t been acquainted long enough to be anything like friends. However, Danse would like it if one day they could be. He likes Nate; his presence reminds Danse of the camaraderie he shared with his fellows in the Brotherhood. It’s an effortless comfort he’s sorely missed since his exile. _And the destruction of the Prydwen,_ he thinks bitterly, though he’s come to terms with that in the intervening years.

While he cares a great deal for Julia and the life he’s built in Sanctuary, it just isn’t the same. Without effort, Nate managed to fill that void in his life, and Danse is loathe to lose that so quickly after finding it again. “That isn’t important right now. Your well being is.”

“Why? So I can inconvenience everyone with my presence? Be an outsider in _my own family?_ ” The scarred man curls in on himself, and Danse is reminded oddly enough of Shaun. Nate looks so small regardless of how impossible that should be for a man his size. “Maybe it’s better if I just disappear.”

“No,” Danse nearly shouts, a strange sort of terror gripping at his heart. “No matter how hopeless you feel right now, that isn’t true, Nate. You would be missed. Don’t doubt that.”

He snorts, and Danse can just catch the streak of moisture sliding down his face. “Oh yeah? By who?” he challenges, gaze sharp when he looks toward Danse.

“ _I_ would,” he answers honestly. “And I know for a fact Julia and Shaun would miss you, too. MacCready would as well, I’m certain. He speaks highly of you. Hell, even Deacon would if he’d stop lying to himself long enough to realize it. I know this isn’t easy, and that a great deal has changed. But you’re still here. That’s important, and I want to make sure it stays that way. You were given a second chance.”

Nate swallows, blinking rapidly. “I just –” his voice fractures. “Can’t do this again.” He buries his face in his hands, dry sobs wracking his frame.

Danse shifts uncomfortably on his feet before stepping over. He sits down and hesitantly places a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath. Everything will be alright. All you have to do is make it to tomorrow.”

After a time, Nate breathes a shaky sigh. He childishly rubs over his eyes with his forearm. He doesn’t speak for a long time, staring at his hands pillowed in his lap. The silence reigns for so long, Nate’s voice startles him. “Julia… she left a holotape for me. I guess for if she died. She, uh…” his eyes roll skyward, searching. “She told me Shaun is a synth, and that my son died an old man. I don’t… how am I supposed to handle that, Danse?”

He sighs, threading his fingers together in his lap. “The same way you handle anything else. One day at a time.” Danse hesitates for a moment. He presses on before indecision can swallow his words. “I was… a high ranking member of a military organization known as the Brotherhood of Steel when I met Julia. We traveled from the Capital Wasteland to the Commonwealth to bring an end to the Institute. We saw synths as the enemy. Technological abominations that should be destroyed before they could wreak havoc on the world.”

Nate stares at him in confusion. “Why are you telling me this?”

Danse sighs. “I’m getting to that. Before Julia brought about the Institute’s destruction, it was discovered that I was a synth. Before that moment, I thought I was human. I didn’t know, and I had always been loyal. To a fault, honestly. Even so, the Brotherhood’s leader, Elder Maxson, sent Julia to hunt me down and kill me, but she refused.

I was _willing_ to die. I didn’t see any other option. I saw myself as everything I hated, everything wrong with the world, an evil to be purged. But Julia… refused to give up on me. She defied everything the Brotherhood stood for, just to save my life. When I thought my life was over, she showed me that it was just beginning, and that being a synth didn’t matter. I am who I am now because of her." He sighs. "The point I’m attempting to make is that life is unpredictable, and even if it feels like you have no way out, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. You just have to keeping moving forward.”

His companion frowns, brows furrowed. “You’re a synth?”

Danse merely nods, barely managing to meet Nate’s gaze. The admission of that still burns, lighting the flame of self-loathing he has to push down and smother. “I am. Does that change your opinion of me?”

Nate’s frown deepens at that before shaking his head, but he doesn’t speak. The silence grows between them, though not uncomfortably. Nate shifts in the bed, idly rubbing at his right knee as he sits up fully. “Shaun being a synth… isn’t the problem. I just feel like I lost him all over again, and with Jules…” he trails off, closing his eyes. “I wanted to hold it together for her.”

“But it just gets to a point you can’t anymore,” Danse supplies with a mirthless grin. “No one expects you to be superhuman. A hard lesson, I know.”

He stares, eyes unfocused. “I didn’t want her to worry about me, on top of everything else.”

“I understand. Just know you aren’t alone.”

Nate nods, managing to grin at Danse. “Yeah, thanks.”

The former paladin rises, feeling the conversation coming to a close. “Anytime. We aren’t soldiers anymore and you aren’t under my command, but I take care of my own. Is there anything else I can do?”

Hesitating only a moment, Nate staggers out of the bed and hands him two holotapes. Danse glances at them, noticing the names written on them. “Could you give these to Deacon and Shaun? I think…” He runs a hand through his hair, face flushed. “It’s only fair they get to listen to theirs since I heard mine.”

Danse grips them tight in his hands and nods. “I can do that.”

Silence again falls between the pair, lingering awkwardly in the air. Nate shifts, sitting back down on the bed, massaging his knee with a grimace. Danse frowns, studying him as he tries to recall if he ever heard about the injury’s origin. Nothing’s really coming to mind, but it must have been quite bad. Ignoring the knee, Nate’s scars are extensive. Danse decides against asking. Now isn’t really the time.

“Nate, I think you should bunk elsewhere for the time being. I have a spare bed you can use, and I’m certain Haylen won’t mind.”

Blue eyes shift up to look at him. “Haylen?”

He blushes at that, averting his gaze as he rubs his nose. “Sarah Haylen. She’s my wife, and she’s stepped in to be wet-nurse for Ellie while Julia is –” He clears his throat, color still high on his cheekbones. “You haven’t met yet.”

“Danse, I don’t want to impose. I can stay here.” Nate glances around the small room with such hopelessness Danse knows he can’t leave him.

“I insist. You shouldn’t be alone, and Sarah’s been wanting to meet you. She was a member of the Brotherhood as well, and besides you haven’t met my daughter.” Danse refuses to budge, tugging Nate to his feet and herding him toward the door. With a bit of hesitation, he grabs Julia's Pip-Boy to take with him. There aren't many holotape players in town; he can give it to Deacon along with the tapes.

“You have a daughter? I didn’t know that,” Nate murmurs, allowing himself to be guided down the hall.

“Yes. She’s nearly four months old. Her name is Marie,” he says with pride.

His companion’s expression softens at that before twisting to something raw. “That’s great, Danse.”

“Come on. No dawdling. Sarah should be up soon,” Danse murmurs encouragingly, reminding himself to keep the baby talk to a minimum. Children still seem to be a raw subject to his friend, not that Danse can blame him.

Since Marie came into his life, he has a new appreciation for Julia and now Nate’s devotion to Shaun. When he first heard of Julia’s quest, he truly didn’t understand why she was going to such lengths, didn’t fully comprehend that bond. But now, thinking of his child, he fully recognizes those urges, that need. He would go through hell and back again for her if he had to.

Guiding Nate out into the rising Wasteland sun, Danse hopes he’s done some good. Glancing back toward the clinic, he silently wishes for his friend to wake up soon, for all their sakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lookit! Julia isn't actually dead. Woo. Also, Danse is a dad! Yay, babies. :3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon waits for Julia to come back to him.
> 
> Deacon PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys.
> 
> Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are loved and appreciated!

Deacon rarely dreams, a fact that suits him just fine. When he inevitably does, it’s always blood and pain and fear, and frankly, he can do without that. It’s part of the reason why he sleeps so little. Easier to keep away the horrors that haunt him. Never mind that sleep is a state of vulnerability where anything could happen, purely at the mercy of an uncaring world. The echoes of Barbara’s screams as she was ripped from their bed in the dead of night still vibrate heavily in that place between waking and slumber, even after so long. It’s a horror he will never be rid of and can never avoid.

Julia’s presence had muffled it, but now with her lingering in limbo, the cacophony is back in full force. Julia’s own screams have joined those of his dead wife, ricocheting in the confines of his mind. If Deacon avoided sleep before, he fights against it with every fiber of his being now. He dreads what twisted nightmares his mind might conjure.

Studying the slack lines of her face, he wonders if Julia’s dreaming. If she is, he hopes them pleasant. Hopes she’s dreaming of her life before, perfect and new, in her beautiful house with its white picket fence and crystal clear skies. That Nate and Shaun are with her, and she’s happy. Deacon knows he has no place in a fantasy like that, with his dirty hands and Wastelander ways. A part of him wishes she could have stayed in that ideal life before the Bombs, if only because it would have kept her safe. Safe from the Wasteland and safe from him. He destroys everything he touches.

“Deacon,” a voice calls from the doorway, startling him.

He jerks toward it, having trouble focusing, but he realizes quickly enough that the visitor is Danse. The former paladin makes him nervous, all sharp edges, but he wouldn’t dare admit it. “Hey, Danse.”

The man lingers awkwardly in the doorway before he moves toward the bed’s edge, his eyes landing on the still woman cocooned in the sheets. “Has there been any change?”

Deacon frowns and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Murmuring a soft acknowledgment, his companion turns to him, and it’s then that Deacon realizes he has something in his hands. Julia’s Pip-Boy and a pair of holotapes. “I won’t take up much of your time but I was… asked to give this to you.”

Numbly taking them, his gaze flicks toward the tapes. The handwriting is unmistakably Julia’s, his and Shaun’s names written on each respective tape. Staring at the one with his name written across it, Deacon’s throat feels suddenly tight. He doesn’t want this. Can’t acknowledge it. Because he knows _exactly_ what this tape is. It’s goodbye. Swallowing, he glances up at Danse. “Um, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “I… felt it best for you to give Shaun his. I don’t feel comfortable doing so.” After a moment of hesitation, he continues. “You should get some rest, Deacon. Julia wouldn’t want you to exhaust yourself.”

Deacon bites back the scathing comment that tries to escape his mouth, turning to watch the rise and fall of her chest. He tells himself she’s only sleeping, and that soon, he’ll see those eyes open again. It’s not a lie he can quite bring himself to believe. “How are Shaun and Ellie?”

“They’re both doing well, considering. Curie stopped by earlier today. I’m certain you’ll be glad to hear Ellie is healthy and gaining weight normally. Shaun is… managing. He spends a great deal of time caring for his sister. He misses you.” There’s a hint of disapproval in Danse’s voice.

Flinching, Deacon stares down at his hands. He should visit, but the thought of leaving Julia for even a moment terrifies him. He hasn’t seen his daughter for more than a few moments since Haylen volunteered to wet-nurse. How long ago was that? A week? More? Time doesn’t have meaning anymore. “I… really appreciate you taking care of them. You and Haylen.”

“Of course. I would do anything for Julia or her family.” He sighs. “That includes you, as well.”

The only thing hiding Deacon’s surprise is his sunglasses. “Aww, Danse. Didn’t know you cared.”

The former paladin rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “I’m serious. I know that we haven’t always gotten along in the past, but Julia cares for you deeply. I want to make sure nothing happens to you in her absence.”

“I’m right as rain, Danse,” he murmurs, staring at the holotape still in his hand.

The man huffs, shaking his head. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, but at least _try_ to rest and eat if you haven’t. You look like hell.”

Deacon can’t disagree. This is the worst he’s felt in _decades_ , but sleep or food for that matter aren’t activities he’s interested in. The thought of eating turns his stomach. “Yes, Mom.”

Danse doesn’t rise to the bait, frowning. “I’ll tell Shaun you said hello,” he says softly before he goes. Deacon doesn’t acknowledge his leaving. Setting Shaun’s tape aside, he absently thumbs his own. He hadn’t expected something like this, but it doesn’t really surprise him. Julia would have wanted to leave behind something.

Before he can think better of it, Deacon pops the tape into the Pip-Boy and presses play. Julia’s voice fills the small room, a cold comfort that washes over him in waves.

_Hey there, Handsome._

_I, uh, I guess this is my final farewell._

_I’m sorry it ended like this._

_Let me just get this out of the way first. Thank you. Thank you for not lying to me about Nate. For bringing him back to me. I didn’t want to rub salt in the wound, but I’ve always been grateful. It would have been easier to pretend you didn’t know he was still alive and leave him in that pod, but you didn’t. Did the thought even cross your mind?_

_I know you never really believed me, but you’re such a beautiful and kind person. This proves it, without a doubt._

_I know Nate being alive threw a wrench in our relationship that never got settled, or at least didn’t before I made this, but I – I want you to know something. This isn’t how I wanted you to hear this, but well, we don’t always get what we want, do we? I… I’m letting Nate go. I still care for him, but we aren’t in the same place right now. I’m not the woman he knew and loved. I can see it when he looks at me, that he misses who I was, but I’ll_ never _be her again. She died in the Vault, or maybe the day the Bombs dropped. I –_

Her voice breaks, and it takes a few moments before she speaks again.

 _I know I’m gone, but I love you and I want_ you _. I have for so very long. Longer than even I realized. I think… even before the Institute fell. You were always there, making sure I didn’t drown. You picked me up when I fell and never treated me like a child, though I must have looked so_ young _to your eyes. I was still that clueless, naive prewar girl when we met._

_You told me once that I was nothing but guts and grit then, but… honestly more than anything, I was scared._

_That first meeting with the Railroad… I was a wreck. I honestly thought I was going to die in that tunnel at the hands of people I wanted to_ help. _I’m sure you noticed, even though I was trying to hide it. You were the only person I wasn’t terrified of. But, I guess that was the point, wasn’t it? Because you wanted me to join. Saw the fire hiding in a scared little girl lost in a strange new world._

_You tried so hard to force me not to trust you, but I did anyway. Implicitly. Maybe in some ways, I still am that naive girl that stumbled from that Vault. Maybe._

_There’s so much I wish we could have done. I wish we could have raised our child together. Grown old together. But most of all, I wish I hadn’t left you behind. You’ve been unhappy for so long, and I never wanted to add to that pain. All I ever wanted was to make you happy. To make you realize that you are loved and wanted. Precious._

_Please, Ryan, live. For me. Try to find happiness because you deserve it. Help Shaun through this, and let him help you. He loves you so much, and you’ve been a wonderful father to him. Raise our baby to be as wonderful as you are, and remember the good times we shared._

_Remember that I love you. Anytime you forget, listen to this. I love you, Ryan. Every part of you, always._

Deacon exhales shakily as the tape ends, pulling off his sunglasses and raking a hand over his eyes. Fuck, she isn’t even gone, and he can’t handle this. How can he possibly go on if she never wakes up? Can he go through that again? Setting the Pip-Boy on the bed beside her, he leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“C’mon, Jules,” he murmurs softly against her skin, fingers threading through her hair. “You gotta wake up.”

Slowly, he sinks back into the chair at her side, cradling her hand in his. He can’t help but feel that Julia is slipping through his fingers, fading away no matter how hard he hangs on. The lights flicker, and Deacon’s head snaps up in panic. Movement from the doorway catches him, a shock of auburn hair and bright green eyes.

It’s Julia.

She shifts, a coy grin on her face as she beckons him toward her. He rises without thought, chasing after her into the Wasteland night. Everything is dark, colorless but her. She glances back with a giggle, eyes bright and so _alive_ it steals away his breath. But no matter how hard he runs, she’s always just out of reach.

“Aren’t you going to catch me, Ryan?” she asks with a laugh, looking over her shoulder at him.

His chest is heaving, muscles on fire, and the distance between them grows and grows. Deacon can’t catch her. “D-don’t _go!”_ He leaps toward her in a last ditch effort to grab her. She slips away with a giggle, and he falls into darkness.

His eyes snap open to dimmed lights and the comforting weight of Julia’s hand still in his. He shakily brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. As far as dreams go, it certainly wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves him with a tangle of unease resting heavily in his gut. He hopes Julia will wake soon. He hopes he didn’t squander away what little time they had left. “C’mon, Beautiful. All you gotta do is open your eyes,” he whispers, gaze fever bright. "We can do all the things you wanted. Raise Ellie and Shaun and grow old together. I promise. I promise.  _Please, just come back to me."_

Everything would be fine if only she’d open her eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun tries his best to deal with the new normal in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the extended delay between chapters here. Like I said, my depression has been really beating me up lately. But I was finally able to motivate myself to finish this chapter.
> 
> I intended for this to be about Nick and Dogmeat, but that chapter is being an utter nightmare for me, so it will probably be the next one. Nate and Shaun needed some interaction anyway. 
> 
> I am on tumblr now. You can find me [here.](http://ariejul.tumblr.com) I don't post a ton, but I'm constantly reblogging stuff that amuses me, so feel free to check it out.

Shaun wakes before the sun again, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The nightmare that chased him from slumber still echoes, reverberating around the small room he shares with Ellie and Marie. Both babies are blissfully asleep, and he breathes a soft sigh. His last nightmare woke nearly the entire house.

Stretching, he slowly stands and wanders over to his sister’s crib, hands curling tightly around the wooden side as he stares at her sleeping face. He loves her beyond words and is so thankful that she’s healthy. Swallowing back emotion threatening to overflow, he pushes away thoughts of their mom. He can’t think of her right now, not when images of her cold, dead eyes linger from his dreams. Not when fear still has a stranglehold on his heart.

Leaning down, he runs a gentle hand over the ginger hair covering Ellie’s head, soft and slightly curled and smiles when she snuggles into his touch.

“Shaun?” Sarah Haylen asks sleepily from the door, startling him. Her blue eyes are lined with worry when he turns toward her, and he blushes a little. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

Rubbing his neck, he looks away. “Yeah. I, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

Sarah walks over to him, cupping his cheek. “Again? Do you want me to get you something to help you sleep? It’s not good to miss so much, especially at your age.”

With a violent head shake, Shaun steps back from the contact. He doesn’t want to be stuck in his nightmares. Anything but that. Insomnia is far preferable. “I’m okay. Promise. Do you want me to go while you feed them?”

Sarah already has Marie in her arms, walking over to the chair tucked into the corner with a small blanket. “Why don’t you try to sleep, Shaun? You look tired.”

He doesn’t miss the worry lingering behind her words, and he feels a sting of guilt. He can’t sleep again. Not yet. It’s too soon. The memories are too bright, burning just beneath his eyelids. “Maybe later. I’ll give you some privacy.” He walks out the door, sliding it shut before she can say anything.

Angrily rubbing at his eyes, he makes his way down the hall. The house is dark, and it’s still a little too early for Danse to be awake. Shaun still can’t quite bring himself to call him Saul. It’s just… strange. He hadn’t even known Danse _wasn’t_ his first name until Sarah mentioned it. Movement in the darkened living room drives away his thoughts, and he freezes, trying to make out what it is.

“Who’s there?” a voice asks sharply. It takes Shaun a moment to place it as Nate’s. His father. Right. He’s staying here, too. Shaun had forgotten.

Shifting on his feet at the mouth of the hall, Shaun debates just turning back around. “It’s Shaun,” he murmurs softly instead, unsure of his welcome. Since Nate came to stay with them, he’s been withdrawn and avoiding everyone. Danse told Shaun not to worry about it, but it’s hard not to. Regardless of how silly it is, Shaun feels like all this is his fault, that every parent he’s had is gone and won’t be coming back. He shoves away the pang of loneliness that always accompanies those thoughts.

“Oh,” he replies softly. “Do you… wanna sit with me?”

Hesitating, he finally does walk over and sit gingerly beside his father. They really haven’t had much of a chance to speak since Ellie’s birth, and Shaun hasn’t sought him out. He hasn’t sought anyone out, really. Rubbing his palms on the knees of his pajama pants, he waits. Mainly, because he has no idea what to say to Nate. He doesn’t know what to say to anyone anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Shaun flinches at that. “I… are you?”

Nate huffs a mirthless chuckle, and Shaun can see in the dim that he’s leaning forward, elbows on knees. “Guess that was a stupid question. Sorry.”

“It… it’s okay.” Wet springs to Shaun’s eyes, and he’s unable to keep it away. Because looking at Nate does nothing but remind him of Mom. Mom, who is dying, and he can’t even bear to go see her. Because Ellie needs him, and he can’t afford to break down now. He has to keep it together, and if he sees her like that, he knows he won’t be able to.

The pair sit in silence for a while, the eerie stillness of predawn Sanctuary seeping into them. Shaun doesn’t know what to say, and Nate doesn’t seem inclined to break the quiet. Just… sitting here like this makes him feel awkward, all wrong and twisted up, but just when Shaun decides to leave, Nate speaks. His father’s eyes are bright in the dim, and Shaun can’t read him. Not like he can Dad.

“Why are you awake this early anyway?”

Staring at his hands, nails bitten down to the quick, Shaun debates how honest he wants to be. It’s strange, wanting to hide himself away. It’s not an urge he’s had before. He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” He cuts his eyes over to the older man. “What about you? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“It’s… easier, in the dark.” Nate doesn’t look at him, staring out the window into the black. “Not really a fan of sleep these days.”

Shaun flinches at that, suddenly reminded of the fact that just a scant month ago (or longer?), Nate was locked away in the Vault, frozen in time for centuries. Was he afraid of never waking up again, or was he upset about Mom? Shaun isn’t sure but knows better than to ask. He reaches over and takes Nate’s hand, threading his fingers with his. It’s all he knows to do. The only comfort he can part with.

Mom needs to wake up.

Shaun shies away from thoughts of her never opening her eyes. If she dies, Shaun isn’t sure he’ll be able to hang on to Dad. Shaun always sort of knew Dad was unstable, but lately… well… he still remembers watching him in that clinic bed, drifting between life and death. Remembers Mom’s tears and his own. If he was willing to go _that_ far with Mom still breathing…

“Shaun?” Nate’s voice drags him back, his father’s rough fingers brushing wet from his face.

He hadn’t realized he was crying. Heat creeps up his face as he turns away. “It’s nothing.”

With a soft sigh, Nate drops the subject, and Shaun is grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about Dad. Not to Nate. Doesn’t think the conversation would be a welcome one. “I miss her, too, buddy,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

Shaun gapes at him, fresh wet pricking against his eyes that he doesn’t have the energy to stop. “I…” His lips work soundlessly, trembling as he unravels. Nate’s arms are suddenly around him, and he’s wailing into his shoulder like a _baby_. But Shaun can’t bring himself to care. Because his life is falling apart at the seams, and he can’t fix it.

His momma is _dying_ and his daddy is dying, _too,_ and Shaun can’t bear to visit her shrouded in that place he’s certain will be her deathbed. He _needs_ someone to support him. Needs someone to tell him everything is going to be okay without that immense sadness lingering just behind their eyes. He needs Momma to wake up. He needs… he just needs to know that nothing is going to _change._

Nate pats his back gently, fingers tracing his spine as Shaun’s hands fist his shirtfront and yank hard against the fabric. It’s hard to breathe around his tears, but his father’s touch is comforting. Shaun’s glad he’s here. He’s glad he isn’t alone right now. “I know. Let it out. It’s okay.” Nate’s voice is soft and kind and soothing.

“I-it’s – it’s _not,”_ he sobs brokenly, snot running down his nose, mixing with the salt of tears streaking down his face. “W-what’s… wh-what’ll we _do,”_ he gasps around the words, “if Mo-momma _never_ _wa-wakes u-up?”_

The man tenses at that, inhaling sharply as his arms tighten around Shaun, but his voice is mostly steady when he manages to speak. “We’ll take it one day at a time. That’s… all anyone can do. I’ll be right here with you, buddy. You can count on it.”

He pulls himself together as much as he can. Sobbing like a baby isn’t helping. Nothing Shaun can manage is helping, and the future leaves him with nothing but apprehension. If Deacon leaves, too… he and Ellie will be alone. Orphaned. Shaun knows Dad loves them both, but he isn’t sure if they’re enough to keep him breathing and that _hurts._

His father pats his back. “You’re worried about Deacon, aren’t you?”

Shaun clings to Nate, a strangled noise crawling up his throat as he nods. He’s afraid that his parents will leave him alone with a man that he barely knows. Afraid that his little sister will never know her parents and grow up without them, just like he did. And there is _nothing_ Shaun can do to save anyone. Nothing he can do but whine and cry and be miserable.

A large hand runs through his auburn hair. “I’ll… do everything I can to keep him breathing. You have my word, Shaun.”

Shaun’s gaze darts up to Nate’s face, surprised that he cares a wit about his dad. Shaun never expected it. Nate manages a smile, and a tsunami of gratitude washes over Shaun. Because for all that Nate is a stranger, he understands, and he wants to help. He buries his face in Nate’s shirtfront. “Thanks, Papa.”

“You… you’re welcome.” Nate’s cheek is a warm pressure against the crown of his head, and the arms holding him tremble. “Shaun, you know I love you, right?”

Shaun hugs him, voice tight and quaking. “Yeah, I do.”

 

The sun beaming through the windows rouses Shaun from a dreamless sleep. He jerks, startled, and a warm pressure runs through his hair. It takes a second to focus, and he realizes his head is resting in someone’s lap. Glancing up, he finds Nate watching. He almost looks like he’s smiling.

“G’morning,” he murmurs softly. “Sleep well?”

Sitting up slowly, Shaun turns away embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to do that. “Er, yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean t’fall asleep.”

Nate waves away his apology. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind.”

He realizes that they’re still alone, though Danse and Sarah should both be up and around by now. “Where’s everybody?”

Nate stands, stretching his arms before rubbing at his knee. “Sarah’s with the babies. Danse went out earlier. Are you hungry? Think the kitchen’s still open. We could get some breakfast.”

Considering that going out would require _seeing_ people, Shaun balks at the idea, but the sliver of hope shining in Nate’s otherwise gloomy expression changes his mind, and he nods. “Yeah. I’d like that. I’ll go tell Sarah we’re going.”

Nate nods, and Shaun walks down the hall, knocking on the door. He leans in. “Hey, I’m going to grab breakfast with Nate. Just… wanted to let you know.” He blushes at the clear surprise gracing her face.

She smiles, the expression lighting up her whole face. Shaun knows she has to be tired, taking care of two babies and a teenager. “That’s great, Shaun. Have a good time, okay?”

Nodding, he turns to go before looking back at her. “Hey, Sarah? I just… thanks, for letting me and Ellie stay here, and for taking care of us. I really appreciate it.”

The next thing he knows, Sarah’s got him wrapped in a tight hug. “Oh, honey, you’re welcome.” She pulls back, patting his cheek. “You’re like family, and I want you to be able to come to me if you need to.”

He nods, pulling back with a lop-sided smile. “Thanks. I’ll be back soon.” Glancing over to his sister, he softly calls out, “bye-bye, Ellie. Be good for Sarah while I’m gone.”

When he gets back to the living room, Nate is waiting by the door. “Ready?” With a nod, father and son head out into the Wasteland morning. Anxiety still gnaws at Shaun, but for the first time in a while, he feels like maybe there’s hope.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Dogmeat, with the Wright sisters in tow, head toward Sanctuary.
> 
> Nick PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Ugh. It's been _mostly_ written for weeks now, but anytime I opened it up to do anything with it, I just cringed. 
> 
> Not sure if I'm a big fan of it, but I'm honestly sorta sick of fussing with it. Writing Piper is weird, and I'm only mostly positive she's in character. She _sounded_ like Piper when I wrote her anyway. I like to think Nat picked up her sister's habit of nicknames.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are welcome and appreciated!

Nick sighs, lighting a cigarette as he stares out into the horizon. Another case closed. Leaning down, he pats his companion’s head. “Thanks for the help, Dogmeat. When it’s your nose, I know we’ll always come out on top.”

Dogmeat woofs happily, prancing beside Nick with tongue lolling.

“Well, what’d’ya say we get you on back home?” Nick asks conversationally, idly puffing on his smoke. He doesn’t really get any joy out of the action, considering he can’t actually taste, but it was a habit the human Nick Valentine had and he remembers the comfort. That’s certainly more than enough. “I bet Julia’s close to having the little one if she hasn’t already. It’ll be nice seein’ our old partner again, won’t it, Dogmeat?”

An energetic bark of agreement sounds, and Nick chuckles.

“Let’s swing by my office, let Ellie know the outcome of the case, and then we can head out. Whaddya say?”

Dogmeat whines softly, eyes shifting toward Sanctuary.

“It won’t take long,” Nick says, scrubbing the pooch’s head. “Besides, I bet Ellie has some Brahmin jerky with your name on it.”

The German Shepard perks up at that and darts ahead toward Diamond City, and Nick smiles. He remembers Julia often slipped Dogmeat jerky on the road, and he sighs wistfully. Nick truly does miss traveling with her. They made a great team, and he can never thank her enough for helping him put the business with Eddie Winter to rest.

The walk to the city is short, and true to Nick’s word, Ellie has jerky for his four-legged friend and a broad smile for Nick. “So, I take it the case went well?”

Nick shrugs off his hat and coat with a nod. He shakes the dust from the road off his trench. Ellie frowns at that, waving away the cloud he stirs. “Yeah, the girl was easy enough to find, and we got her home safe and sound. The fact that we put a group of slavers out of business is just icing on the cake.”

“That’s great,” Ellie replies softly with a smile. She bends down to Dogmeat, who has finished his snack, and scratches under his chin. “And I bet you were a big help, weren’t you, boy?”

Dogmeat whines happily with a short woof, his foot bouncing when she hits a good spot. Ellie laughs as she rises. “You heading back out again?”

Nick’s coat and hat are already back on, looking better now that most of the road’s grime is gone. “Yeah. Gotta take Dogmeat back up to Sanctuary and check on my partner.”

“It’s just about that time, isn’t it?” Her young face softens at that, eyes bright. “Tell her hello and congratulations for me.”

Nick squeezes her shoulder briefly with a grin. “Can do. You hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“I always do.”

Diamond City is bustling with folks as Nick makes his way back toward the exit. Elections for the new mayor are finally proceeding, and mayoral propaganda is scattered throughout the city. It reminds Nick of the vague memories he has of political campaigning back in the Old World. A surge of disgust at the process rises up his throat, but he shakes the feeling away. He isn’t Nick Valentine, Old World cop. He’s Nick Valentine, Synth detective. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that, even after all this time.

Piper stops him on the way past her office. “Hey! Hey, Nicky! How’s it goin’?”

Dogmeat charges over, prancing around her and barking happily. Piper laughs as she pets his head.

“Hey there, Piper. You managin’ to stay out of trouble?”

Her brown eyes dance with mischief, giving Nick his answer before she even speaks. “Of course I am. Who do you take me for?”

Shaking his head, Nick barks a short laugh. “What _was_ I thinking.”

“So, uh, you headin’ back out? Got another case?” Piper asks, shifting on her feet with what Nick likes to call her sleuthing face plastered on.

“Not this time. Gonna take Dogmeat here back up to Sanctuary and visit our good friend for a while. Been ages since I saw her.”

Piper’s eyes light up at that, as if remembering something. “Wasn’t Blue expecting a baby?” She taps her chin with a finger in thought. “Ought to be about time, right?”

Nick nods at that with Dogmeat barking happily as well, shifting his gaze back and forth between the pair.

“Hey, think I could tag along? Been a while since I got up that way, and I wouldn’t mind seeing her again, too.” Piper falls in beside Nick without even waiting for an answer.

Nick merely sighs, rolling his eyes. “Free country and all. I can’t stop ya if you wanna tag along.”

A beaming smile is his response. “Well, good. Man, how long has it been since we hit the road together? Ages, hasn’t it?”

“Sure has.”

Piper’s younger sister, Nat, comes running up a few moments later. “Hey, are you leaving again, Piper?” She notices Nick and smiles. “Hey, Nick.”

He waves with a smile as Dogmeat sidles up to the younger girl for more pets. Nick thinks Nat must be about thirteen or so now and marvels at how time flies. He remembers when Piper showed up all those years back, and Nat was little more than a toddler.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Piper replies with a smile, ruffling her sister’s hair. “I’m gonna head up to Sanctuary with Nick and Dogmeat for a while. Think you can take care of things while I’m gone?”

Nat frowns at that, crossing her arms. “Oh, no. You aren’t leaving me behind this time. I’m going, too! I know Blue and the boys are up there. Shades, too! I want to see them.”

Nick snorts under his breath, shaking his head. He’d forgotten Nat’s nickname for Deacon was so amusing. Bit on the nose, but charming. Idly, he wonders if Deacon’s aware of it.

Piper glances over at Nick, who just shrugs. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Oh, alright. Let’s lock up and head out.”

It doesn’t take long for the Wright sisters to close up shop and the small group to get on the road. With the Institute destroyed, the bridge heading north is no longer an option for travel, so Nick guides the group westward, toward Vault 81. It’s certainly best to give the crater that used to be CIT the widest berth possible. Even after several years, the radiation is unbearable. Nick’s kinda surprised the Children of Atom haven’t set up shop there yet.

Sometimes, Nick wonders about the Railroad’s and by extension his partner’s judgment skills. Who would think blowing a nuclear reactor sky high to take out the Institute was a good idea? He’s never really mentioned it, but he’s always wondered why that was the best option available. Why destroying something so advanced was the only choice. There was so much there they could have learned from. Now, it’s all gone.

Piper elbows him, a conspiratorial look on her face as she leans in. “So, whatcha thinkin’ about?”

He side-eyes her, huffing. “Oh, nothing important.”

She chuckles, brow raised. “If you say so, Nicky.” Piper glances up and calls out to her sister. “Hey! Don’t run off too far.”

They meet little resistance along the way, just a few raiders easily enough dispatched. Piper’s a good shot with her pistol; Nick had forgotten just how much so. Surprisingly, Nat isn’t bad with hers, either. Passing by the Vault entrance, they sneak around the ruined buildings that edge the reservoir there, a known haunt of Super Mutants. They don’t actually see any green skins, but better safe than sorry. Tangling with them is just asking for a heap of trouble. Judging from the sun’s placement, Nick guesstimates that they’re probably going to have to call it a night at Oberland Station.

“Hey,” Nat calls out, pointing, “Isn’t that one’a Blue’s friends?”

Nick looks, and sure enough, Preston Garvey and another man Nick can’t place are walking toward them with a burdenless pack Brahmin trailing behind. “Huh. Yeah. Wonder what he’s doing out this way.”

Dogmeat barks sharply, scampering over and jumping on Preston as Nick jogs up after him. “Hey there, buddy,” Preston laughs, scratching behind Dogmeat’s ears with a broad grin. He glances up as Dogmeat licks the side of his face, and Nick doesn’t miss the sorrow lingering in his eyes. “Heya, Nick.”

“Hey there, Preston,” he greets with a nod. He looks over at Preston’s companion, sure that he’s seen the man before but can’t remember who he is for the life of him. “And you’ll forgive me, but I can’t remember your friend here’s name.”

The man, head shaved and mannerisms stiff, nods toward Nick. “My name is John. We met once, briefly.”

Nick nods. “Right, right. We did. You helped with the whole Institute business. So, what’s got you kids out this way? Don’t figure you’ve taken up the caravaneer’s lifestyle.” He glances between the pair, brow raising. “Something wrong?” Near as he can tell, they were heading toward the Vault. About the only thing of interest out this way.

Preston adjusts his hat, hiding his eyes as Piper and Nat walk up behind Nick. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“What is it?” Piper asks, voice tainted with worry as she rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

The Minuteman shifts on his feet, clearing his throat. “It’s Julia. She’s… it’s not good.”

Piper gasps behind him as Nick’s brows furrow. “What’s happened?”

He hesitates, swallowing heavily. John steps in when it’s clear Preston isn’t going to speak. “Her heart arrested during childbirth. She has yet to wake. We are going to Vault 81 to see if they have any advanced monitoring equipment that we may borrow.”

“Damn. That’s… not good.” Nick is used to death. It’s just a fact of life in the Wastes, especially when you don’t age, but even so, to hear that his partner is in a bad way makes his chest ache acutely. Makes him wish more than anything that Julia was a synth like him.

The reporter places a shaking hand on Nick’s shoulder, and when he glances back, there are tears in her eyes. “What about the baby?”

“She’s… healthy as ever,” Preston manages, gripping the reins of the Brahmin tightly. “Much as I hate it, we… really need to be heading on. Quicker we get there, quicker we can get back. It was good to see you.”

Nick and Piper both nod, waving at the pair head on their way. Nat grips Piper’s hand tightly, frowning. “Is Julia dying, Piper?”

Her sister looks at her, blinking away emotion. “I dunno, Nat.”

Dogmeat whines after Preston and John before glancing up at Nick. The synth adjusts his hat and trench. “C’mon, we aren’t doing any good standing around here. Let’s get to it.”

Piper pulls herself together and nods determined. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Nick can’t shake the feeling of dread, even as he hopes beyond everything that his friend will be alright. Julia has survived far worse, he tells himself, thinking of all the trials she overcame in the journey to find her lost child. Hell, she even brought down the Boogeyman of the Commonwealth, a permanent fixture in the Wastes for _centuries_. Surely, she can overcome this. Surely.

Their pace increases after their encounter with Preston, but by Oberland, it’s clear that they’re all in need of a respite. The people at Oberland greet them warmly, insisting on preparing a hot meal for their weary guests. The affair is a quiet one, with Nat being especially withdrawn. One of the settlers there, a woman by the name of Eda, does manage to get the young girl to smile, but it’s clear that the news of Julia didn’t sit well with her, not that Nick can blame her.

After eating, Piper gets her sister settled for the night. Dogmeat stays with her, allowing the girl to use him for a pillow. Nick watches from the sidelines, a ghost of a smile on his face. He’s always had a fondness for the Wright sisters, and he’s done what he can to keep them safe. Not an easy task, but it’s one he enjoys. His human counterpart was fond of kids, and it’s a trait that definitely carried over.

Nick wanders off to the edge of the small settlement, staring out into the darkness. Being ageless, he’s had to say goodbye to many people he called friend, but it’s never any easier. And honestly, a part of him thought Julia would live forever, as silly as the notion is. Something about her’s just larger than life. Sighing softly, he lights up another cigarette, the comfort of it seeping into him as its smoke swirls away with the slight breeze.

“How you holdin’ up?” Piper asks, walking up beside him. Nick offers her a cigarette, which she graciously accepts.

“Well enough.” His yellow eyes cut toward her, glowing bright in the dark. “How’s the kid?”

Piper breathes the smoke out slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s hit her pretty hard, but I think she’ll be okay. Nat’s a tough kid.”

Nick nods at that. “What about you?”

The reporter shrugs, eyes drifting up to the starry sky. “Don’t you worry about me, ole Nicky boy. I’m good.” She sucks in another lungful of smoke before speaking again. “Blue and I haven’t always gotten along, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I _do._ Always worried about her out there alone.” She breathes a soft laugh.

“It’s just… when we met, she was so soft and new and _good_ , and I’d seen what the Commonwealth could do to someone like that. I wanted to be there for her, help her out, but well, she didn’t want that. So I… just had to watch from the sidelines and hope she’d be alright. As time went on, I could tell that things really hadn’t changed much, that _somehow_ the Commonwealth hadn’t destroyed her. Which is great, but… I still worried, y’know?”

“Believe me, I know exactly what you mean.” Nick remembers that sad, scared girl that stumbled wide-eyed into that room with him, shaking like a leaf. And the fire lit behind her eyes, despite it all.

Piper smiles wanly at that. “Knew you would. Once I noticed Deacon tailing after her, I knew he’d keep her safe. He’s a hard read, but I always got the impression he was a _lit_ _-_ _tle_ starstruck with our Blue. I’ve seen less devotion from the Children of Atom.” She huffs a short laugh. “Can’t say I was really surprised when you told me they’d gotten together. I was happy for her. Him, too.”

Nick chuckles low at that. “Deacon would laugh if he heard you say that. But I know what you mean. And just so you know, she never said anything bad about you, Piper. Not to me.”

She snorts at that. “Don’t go tryin’ to make me feel better. I know Blue thinks I’m just a nosy busybody, and that’s okay. I mean, I _am._ Comes with the job. Blue’s just… a very private person, and I didn’t make the best first impression. I’m still surprised as hell she gave me that interview.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. Piper isn’t wrong, really. Julia had mentioned once that Piper was boisterous and liked to pry just a little _too_ much for her taste. He’d always tried to get her to give the reporter another chance, but it just never seemed to come up.

Piper stretches beside him, dropping her spent smoke and stomping it out with her boot heel. “Gonna get some shut eye. Try not to brood too much, alright?”

Watching his friend wander back into the settlement, Nick sighs and sits down. His joints creak and ache. “Gettin’ old,” he grunts to himself, flexing his bare metal hand and frowning at the unresponsiveness. His body doesn’t bounce back like it used to, but he has bigger things to worry about right now. Like Julia.

He wonders idly how Deacon and Shaun are coping. Putting out the cigarette he barely touched, he huffs to himself. If he knows anything about the Railroad spy, he’s probably handling Julia’s condition about as well as the world handled the nukes. Shaun probably isn’t coping much better. Poor kid just got his mom back and now he might lose her. Nick sighs and stares up into the starry sky until morning.

Eda insists they have breakfast before heading out, and Nick certainly doesn’t mind. As much as he wants to see Julia, he dreads what he’ll find. Dreads that she might be gone before he gets there. While everyone’s eating, he busies himself with checking on the turrets around the settlement’s edge to make sure they’re in working order. The task doesn’t hold his attention, however, thoughts continually drifting to his friend and partner.

He’s spared from further thoughts by Dogmeat woofing at him. Standing, Nick dusts himself off and makes his way back over. After wishing the settlers well, they head on their way. For the most part, the route is quiet, and Nick is glad for that. They’re all a little distracted. A pack of mongrel dogs even managed to get the jump on them, but they were easily enough dispatched. The only injury was a scratch to Nat’s arm.

Piper and Nat make little in the way of conversation, but Nick doesn’t mind much. There’s only one subject on everyone’s mind, and it isn’t one he wants to think about. Nat does perk up as they pass by Graygarden, talking animatedly about a farm run totally by Handy bots. Piper promises to bring her back by later, and that gets a smile. After Graygarden, it doesn’t take them long to reach the outskirts of Concord. They navigate around the town proper, making their way up the sloping road toward Red Rocket.

Nick’s surprised to find the guard post empty. “Huh, guess X6 is out.”

Piper flinches at the name, nose wrinkling like she smelled something foul. “Good. The less I see of a Courser, the better."

Nick frowns at that. “Oh, he’s not so bad, Piper. I mean, he did turn on his masters when Julia’s life was in danger. That makes him okay in my book.”

“Wait, what? Really? I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me, Nick?” Piper murmurs astonished. “That’s, uh, that’s really something.”

“Like I said, not a bad guy. Just a little rough around the edges.”

Nat pipes up then, her hand resting on Dogmeat’s head. “Blue’s friends with a Courser?”

Nick nods, and the girl’s expression is a mix of awed trepidation. She glances around like the Courser in question is going to jump out from the shadows.

Impatient with the lack of movement, Dogmeat woofs and charges on ahead, nearly sprinting across the Old North Bridge into the settlement.

When they catch up to their four-legged companion, RJ’s posted at the gate, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Nick. Piper. Been a while. Oh, hey, Nat.”

Nick grins, shaking the merc’s hand. “So it has. So it has. Heard about Julia.”

RJ nods solemnly. He absently scratches Dogmeat’s head again when he bumps his nose into his palm. “Yeah. Things have been pretty crazy around here lately. I don’t know how she managed as long as she did. I mean, with her husband back and all, things were really bad.”

“Wait,” Nick stops him, brows furrowed. “Her _husband’s_ back? I thought he was dead.”

RJ blinks a few times, realization dawning on his face. “Oh. _Right._ You didn’t know. Turns out he wasn’t actually dead. Deacon woke him up about a month ago. So yeah. Been real crazy lately.”

“Holy shit,” Piper murmurs softly, eyes wide. Nick couldn’t agree more. If Julia’s husband is back, things must be decidedly worse than he could imagine.

“Yeah, that about covers it.” RJ waves them on in. “C’mon. No use standin’ around at the gate. Julia’s in the clinic, and I'm pretty sure Deacon’s with her. I'll walk you there." The trio, plus Dogmeat, follow along behind the sniper. At least Julia isn’t dead, Nick muses. It’s not as comforting a thought as it ought to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know he's only mentioned here, but yay, X6! I've been meaning to bring him into the series for *ages.* I just never had the right place, and I wanted to do the awesome character justice. :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick, Piper, and Nat come face to face with the situation in Sanctuary.
> 
> Piper PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Did you miss me? Sorry for the absence, but I needed a break. I had a death in the family, and writing was probably the furthest thing from my mind. I don't know if updates will be as quick as they were, but I think I'm back in the saddle. :D
> 
> This chapter wrote itself. I was dreading it, honestly, but it went incredibly well. I was going to write this from Nick's PoV initially, but then Piper decided she wanted to be the voice this time around. It was interesting. I'm still not sure how well I do Piper, but I'm pretty happy with it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always welcome and loved! Seriously, I love hearing what you think!

RJ leaves them at the clinic door, heading back to his post. Dogmeat doesn’t hesitate, nosing his way into the door and down the hall to Julia’s room. Walking inside is nerve wracking. It’s too quiet, like death has already spread over everything inside. Curie’s there at the counter, a startled expression on her face. “Oh, Monsieur Nick, Mademoiselles Piper and Nat. I did not know you were here.”

“Just got into town,” Nick replies, smiling at the doctor. “How’s Julia?”

Curie wrings her hands at that, glancing down the hallway. Piper notes the lingering fatigue dragging along the lines of her face and the way her shoulders droop. “She is… stable for now. I am afraid there is nothing more I can do for her.”

Nick nods at that, sighing heavily. “Is it okay if we go see her?”

The doctor nods. “Of course! Monsieur Deacon is with her.” Curie’s gaze shifts, brows furrowing. “He refuses to leave her side. I worry about his own health. He does not sleep or eat as he should.”

Nat grips Piper’s hand tightly, a frown pulling at her lips. She pulls Nat into a hug as she bats away her own emotion. “He must be worried sick,” she says softly, holding her sister close. “How’s Shaun doing? And the baby?”

Curie nods. “Shaun is trying very hard to be strong and take care of his new sister, but it is clear how much of a toll it is taking.”

“Where is he? With Deacon?” Nick asks, glancing around as if the boy might materialize any moment.

“No,” she grips the counter, gentle eyes dropping. “He is staying with Monsieur Danse and Madam Haylen. She has been taking care of dear Eleanor for Julia.”

Nick nods. “Thanks, Curie.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m glad you’re here to take care of Blue,” Piper adds, turning and following Nick down the hall to Julia’s room. As the get closer, she can hear whispering, realizing Deacon is speaking to Dogmeat.

The man in question glances up mid-pat, entire frame stiff when they walk in. Piper’s never seen him so haggard. It looks like he’s aged ten years. “Nick. Piper.” He looks vaguely dumbstruck, staring at them.

“Hey there, Deacon,” Piper says after Nick doesn’t speak. “We came by to check on Blue.”

The Railroad spy’s gaze drifts back to the still woman in the bed, and Piper is struck by how melancholy he is. It breaks her heart. “Yeah.”

“Deacon,” Nick says, walking over to the end of the bed. His yellow eyes are keen, studying the man. “You look like hell.”

The man in question barks a short laugh. Piper notices his hands are shaking. “Been a pretty hellish month, Valentine.”

The detective nods, patting Julia’s covered leg. “You need rest.”

Deacon’s mouth twists into a snarl, glaring at him. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You really think Julia would want you to do this to yourself?”

“Don’t talk about her!” he snaps, and Piper’s surprised at the venom in his voice. She’s never known Deacon to show any real emotion so openly. He’s always been amicable, sure, but aloof, an arm’s reach away from everyone. “You don’t know _anything.”_

Nick frowns, his eyes hardening. “I know Julia, and she would hate you acting this way.”

Deacon glares daggers, and Piper’s afraid it’s going to come to blows. “Hey, let’s just calm down, alright? We’re all here for the same reason.” She flinches when Deacon’s harsh gaze turns toward her. “Nick’s just worried about you, Deacon. So am I.”

Deacon’s mouth twists, and Piper thinks he might snap at her next, but he relents. So does Nick. Deacon turns back to Julia, his expression tight. The way he’s trembling is destroying Piper. Nat, who up to that point had been silent, walks over to stand beside Deacon, her eyes fixed on Julia’s still form. She plucks at the edge of the blanket nervously. Piper realizes a moment later that she’s crying when a muffled sob tears from her mouth.

She charges past them out the door a moment later. Piper shares a brief look with a startled Nick and Deacon before following after her sister. It takes a while, but she finds her under the large tree in the cul-de-sac, sitting in the swing strung up on one of the lower branches.

Piper watches her before approaching. Nat’s staring at the ground, rubbing her eyes with the butt of her palms. The sight pulls at Piper’s heartstrings. Wasn’t she around Nat’s age when their father died? “Hey, Nat,” she calls out softly, kneeling in front of her. “You wanna talk?”

Nat looks up, brown eyes wide. “I… it’s not fair, Piper!”

Running a hand over Nat’s hair, Piper nods solemnly. “No, it isn’t.”

“She has to wake up. She _has_ to. Julia deserves to be happy and be with her family.”

The reporter sits down in the grass beside Nat. “Yes, she does.” She’s still surprised at her sister’s reaction. Piper hadn’t realized just how much it was affecting her. Honestly, she’s wondering _why_ it’s affecting her sister so much. Nat hadn’t spent much time with Julia as far as Piper knew.

Nat doesn’t speak anymore, silently crying until her tears run dry. Piper sits with her, ready to listen to anything she might have to say. Her little sister looks up after a while, eyes glistening. “Piper?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me about Dad again?”

That startles Piper. Nat had been very young when their father was murdered, and she rarely asked after him. “Sure,” she replies with a tight smile, taking her sister’s hand and squeezing it. As she speaks, Piper feels the tell-tale tightening of her throat and pushes down the emotion bubbling up. It surprises her just how much she’s forgotten about their father. It’s difficult to recall his voice, or the exact way he smiled. It certainly doesn’t help her squash down her own sorrow.

Once she’s finished, Nat’s quiet, rocking slightly in the swing, staring at her feet. “Thanks, Piper.”

Piper frowns at the tone of her sister’s voice, worry gnawing at her thoughts. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

“I’m going to go see Shaun.” Nat stands, and Piper’s surprised at how composed she is. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she never would have guessed she’d been crying earlier.

“I bet he’d like to see you. Want me to go with you?”

She shakes her head sternly. “No. I wanna go alone.”

Piper nods, standing and wiping off the seat of her pants. “Okay. I’ll catch up with you later.” She watches her wander off, frowning. Nat was too young to know their father, having only the barest hint of memory relating to him. She wonders if maybe that fact bothers her sister more than she realized. Piper wonders if that might have something to do with Nat’s visceral reaction to Julia.

Sighing, she rubs her temples. Not knowing what else to do, she heads back toward the clinic, meeting Nick as he’s leaving. “Hey.”

“Hey,” the synth detective greets, lighting up a cigarette when he’s a fair distance from the clinic. Piper takes the offered smoke with a mirthless grin. “How’s Nat?”

“Better,” Piper murmurs, exhaling a plume of smoke. “She’s visiting with Shaun. How’s Deacon?”

Nick frowns, eyes drifting back to the clinic. “On edge. If things don’t improve soon, I’m worried he’s going to pull something.”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Neither have I,” Nick agrees, puffing on his smoke and gaze drifting. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him while we’re here.”

She nods at that. Julia would be devastated if something happened to Deacon, especially over her condition. She worries what he’ll do if Julia never wakes up. He’s already emotionally stretched thin as it is. “Gonna be a tough job. Up for it?”

Nick chuckles low. “Gotta be.” He focuses on his cigarette for a time, silence settling comfortably between them. “I’m sort of surprised we haven’t seen Julia’s husband. Figured he’d be glued to her side.”

Piper frowns thoughtfully. She’d honestly forgotten RJ had mentioned him still being alive. What was his name again? Nate? “Y’know, I am, too. Might have something to do with Deacon. Had to have been a shock for him, waking up like that. To –” she gestures around them, “this.”

Nick nods pensively. “I know from experience how shocking it can be.”

“Guess you do,” she replies. Her gaze drifts around the settlement. It’s nicer than it was the last (and only) time she was here. It’s a place she honestly wouldn’t mind living herself by the look of it. Quiet. Peaceful. Everything Julia wanted. She notices a familiar face a moment later.

She calls out with a wave. “Hey, Danse!”

The former paladin glances up from his company, a man Piper doesn’t know, with a frown before his expression lifts a little. He waves back, and the pair walk over. The unknown man favors his right leg, the limp painful to watch. She winces in sympathy. “Piper,” he nods to her and then to Nick, “Nick. When did you get here?”

Piper notices Danse’s companion eyeing Nick warily, but he doesn’t seem upset by the synth. Does he know about the early gen synths? Idly, she takes in his appearance, a tall and heavily scarred man with keen blue eyes and dark hair. She’s certain his is a face she’s never seen. She’d remember damage like that. “Just a little bit ago. Who’s your friend?”

That snaps the man out of his staring. He grins charmingly, sticking out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Nate.”

Piper takes his hand, remembering that Julia did the same thing when they met. That cements it in her mind. “Piper. Lemme guess, you’re Julia’s husband?”

He flushes a little, pulling away. He hesitantly sticks out his hand for Nick to shake. The synth does, making sure it’s his left hand instead of the skeletal right. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Nick grins at him. “Nick Valentine, detective. Nice to finally put a face to the name. Julia told me a lot about you.”

Piper notices how that peaks the man’s interest. “Oh yeah? Hope it was good.” He huffs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. She itches to ask how he got his scars but knows better. That memory must be a painful one. “I guess you’re both friends of hers, too?”

“Sure are,” Nick answers immediately. “Shame to hear about her condition. How you holdin’ up?”

Nate’s eyes widen a little at the question. “Holding out best I can.”

“RJ mentioned you’ve been awake about a month. Imagine it’s been a wild ride.”

Julia’s husband nods, and Piper notes the slight tremble to the line of his shoulders. She isn’t the only one; Danse hesitantly places a hand on the man’s shoulder. Nate smiles at the former paladin. “You could call it that. Definitely been interesting.” He grimaces a little at that, shifting to rub his right knee. “If you want to see Shaun, he’s at Danse’s place. I’m sure he’d like that.”

Nick nods at that. “We’ll head that way. It was good to meet you.” Nodding to Danse, Nick turns to leave, stomping out his spent cigarette.

Piper stands there, feeling strangely awkward. She stomps out her own smoke, though she isn’t actually finished with it. Nate’s gaze shifts over to her, and she feels exposed beneath those eyes. A small curl of jealousy worms its way into her heart that Julia married a man like him. Even with the scars covering half his face, he’s handsome. Her gaze dips to her feet, surprised at how flustered she is. “Glad you’re here,” she finally manages, patting his arm. “and it was nice to meet you. Hang in there. Bye, Danse.” She tears off a moment later, not waiting for their replies.

Nick glances over at her when she finally catches up. “You alright there?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Piper pulls off her newsboy cap and threads her fingers through her hair.

Her companion smiles knowingly, and they make their way toward Danse’s place. Shaun is excited to see them, but it’s clear that he’s running on fumes at this point. He looks so tired – _too_ tired for someone so young – the color under his eyes a deep hazy purple. Piper wants nothing more than to wrap him up in a tight hug and shield him from all the pain he must be feeling. She notices that Nat is hovering over him like a mother hen, worry etched over her features.

It’s also surprising just how much he’s grown since she last saw him. He’s taller than she is now, and he looks just like his father. They talk for a while in hushed whispers, and Shaun ends up discussing some of his fears over Julia with Nick. He’d always been fond of the detective, and that hasn’t faded. Piper does end up hugging him then, and though she and Shaun have never been terribly close, he collapses into her welcome arms.

Haylen appears a few minutes later, and they get to see Julia’s baby. Little Ellie is probably the cutest thing Piper’s ever seen, and she spends some time cooing over her. She also ends up fawning over Marie, surprised and delighted to learn she belongs to Haylen and Danse. Danse deserves every happiness, and Piper’s glad he’s found a family. Poor guy’s been through so much.

It’s late into the evening when she and Nick finally leave. Nat decided to stay for a while longer, especially after Duncan showed up. Piper reminded her not to stay out to late before leaving. The pair wander toward the rooms they were given while in Sanctuary, quiet lingering between them. Piper ponders the situation, wondering if there is anything that can be done to help Julia or her family.

“Hey, Piper?” he says after a while, startling her.

“What is it?” She glances over at her companion, eyes quizzical.

The synth mulls over his words for a moment before speaking. “I’ve got an idea I wanted to run by you. Wondering if it’s as crazy as it sounds.”

That has her interest piqued. “Hit me, Nicky.”

He gestures toward her room. “Let’s head in. Don’t wanna be overheard.”

Piper follows her friend inside, wondering just what he wants to say as she studies the serious expression etched across Nick’s face.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth is a painful necessity. 
> 
> Deacon PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> New chapter time. Yay!
> 
> Feels like forever since I updated. Writer's block is so lame. This is the 3rd version of this chapter I've written, and they've all be wildly different. I've been meaning to bring the Longs in for a while now, so this is me rectifying that. (I really do adore both Marcy and Jun).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Events that occurred in [Erlebnisse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177373) and [Duyên](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649342) are mentioned in this chapter, in case anyone needs a refresher.

Deacon watches the sky darken as night creeps upon the world; another day gone without Julia’s smile. Another day where he was little more than _useless._ Cupping her hand in his, he presses a lingering kiss along her knuckles. Searching her face for reaction, a sign she’s still in there _somewhere_ , Deacon sighs. 

Nothing.

There’s movement by the door; Curie come to check on her patient. He can’t bring himself to greet her. He can barely manage to function these days. “Just what the hell are you doing?!” a decidedly un-Curie-like voice snaps, and he whirls around in alarm.

Marcy Long stands there, face scrunched up like she’s smelled something foul. She stalks over toward him, and Deacon braces himself for the oncoming storm. “I leave for a _month_ , and everything goes to hell! And what is this about you moping like some child?”

Deacon opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes.

Marcy continues on, unabashed. “What about your children? _They need you._ ”

“But -”

Balling her fists into her sides, she cuts him off. “I don’t know why everyone is tiptoeing around. Julia isn’t going anywhere, and she sure as shit wouldn’t be happy to hear you’re acting like this.” She points behind her, out the door, nearly smacking into the face of her husband, Jun. Deacon hadn’t even realized he was there. “You look like hell. Get out and go make yourself useful. _Now. ”_

A fire, sudden and hot, ignites in his chest as he stands. “Back off, lady.”

Due to the height difference, he towers over the smaller woman, but she doesn’t seem to care in the least. “You aren’t the only one grieving, but that doesn’t mean you get to lock yourself up in here like nothing else matters!”

Deacon’s ire wilts into shame as he steps back. She isn’t wrong, and he knows it. Even so, his fingers curl into fists, mouth working in attempt at rebuttal, but the words die unspoken. He sighs, closing his eyes, and turns away.

“Hey,” Jun’s voice is soft and understanding. “We know you miss her, but let us help. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Deacon glances back at the pair, and Marcy nods in agreement. “Go on. We’ll keep watch.” Her expression shifts, a sympathetic light in her eyes. “Get some rest. She’s in good hands.”

Unable to do much more, Deacon nods. He grabs up the holotapes Danse gave him, along with strapping Julia’s Pip-boy to his arm, and is shoved out the door with a firm kindness from the Longs. Standing in the hall, he isn’t sure what to do with himself. Closing his eyes, he fights back the overwhelming urge to _run_.

If he does, Shaun will --

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, wandering aimlessly. Should he go home? Even the mere idea sends his thoughts careening to Julia, and he has to force himself not to turn around. He knows Marcy would just kick him out, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight her.

“Dad?”

The voice catches him off-guard. He turns; Shaun is standing by the old tree, leaning against one of the boulders there. The light from the street lamps plays oddly along the lines of his face, and unease coils in Deacon’s gut. He shakes it off, stopping a short distance away.

He swallows, throat suddenly parched. “H-hey, kiddo.” He manages a two fingered salute and curses the way his voice wavers.

Shaun merely stares at him, brow furrowing. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

He winces and bows his head. “I deserve that.”

Crossing his arms, Shaun sighs. “Whatever. Not like you care about us anyway.”

“You know that isn’t true, Shaun,” he snaps, unable to keep the ire from his tone.

“Do I?” Shaun shrugs. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Ellie? She’s your _daughter_ , and you _left her._ ”

Words escape him, and Deacon is left gaping. Gnashing teeth and rage he could handle, but this… soft spoken brutality is leaving him breathless and off-kilter. Licking his lips, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I… Julia needed me.”

“ _And we didn’t?!”_ Shaun growls, suddenly in his face, and Deacon is struck at how _tired_ he looks. How _lost._ “You’re…” his voice breaks, “You’re the only dad I’ve ever known, and I’ve never been enough to make you stay. I -”

Another regret, another _mistake_ he can’t take back. The stinging burn of failure presses in like a vice around his chest, but he pushes it back for another time. “That isn’t -”

Shaun cuts him off, hands balling into fists. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me that isn’t true. How many times have you ran? How _many_ times was Mom the only reason you’re _still here?_ ” His eyes glisten in the light, and every word is ripping Deacon to shreds. “If she’d listened to you all those years ago, you would have _died.”_

Deacon still wonders if maybe that would have been better. He hadn’t meant to nearly die in the ruins of his former life, but he’d managed to come to terms with the fact. Besides, he had always been living on borrowed time, and it almost seemed fitting, to die where it all went wrong. Julia would have moved on like he wanted and found happiness elsewhere. Shaun for damn sure deserves better than someone like him.

He doesn’t think about how fucking happy he was when he woke up with Julia by his side, or that her utter relief that he was _alive_ had melted away the last bit of resistance he had left. That her presence ignited a fire in his chest he thought long quenched.

“Shaun, I…” _Sorry_ isn’t enough. There are no words that will ever mend this wound, no lie he can weave to sooth this hurt. Deacon steps back from him, the ardent desire to be _anywhere but here_ overwhelming everything else.

Shaun’s lip trembles for the briefest moment before he gnashes his teeth. “What? Are you going to run _again?_ ”

That hits Deacon like a punch to the gut. He exhales sharply and fights back the urge. Shaun needs him. Hell, the kid is all but _screaming_ at him to stay for reasons Deacon still doesn’t fully grasp. “Why do you even want me?”

Shaun flinches at that, grimacing. “Because you’re my _Dad_ , and I love you.” Wet finally slips from his eyes, and his cool demeanor shatters into that of a heartsick little boy. “W-why is that… _so_ hard to understand?”

“Shaun, I -” Deacon wavers, wanting to pull Shaun into his arms, but the fear of his rejection stills his hand. Shaun should hate him. He should want nothing to do with him.

The boy collapses against him moments later, quaking arms wrapping tightly around Deacon’s middle as he sobs. Trembling in his arms, for all the world a small, forlorn child, Deacon’s reminded of the first time Julia threw herself in his embrace. This feels just as foreign. However, he doesn’t hesitate wrapping Shaun in a hug, and listens as he babbles softly against his shoulder. “ _Please don’t leave again. Don’t leave me. Please. P-please. I need_ you. _”_

His arms tighten around Shaun automatically as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m here, buddy.”

Shaun fists handfuls of Deacon’s shirt as his sobs die down into whimpers. He exhales loudly, rubbing his face against Deacon’s shoulder. He seems to come back to himself after a time and pulls away with some reluctance. He stares at Deacon’s left arm, blinking owlishly. “Why do you have Momma’s Pip-Boy?”

It takes a moment to process the question, having utterly forgotten the thing was strapped to his wrist at all. He licks his lips. “I… I have something for you, kiddo.” He pulls Julia’s holotape from his pocket, holding it out toward Shaun.

The boy stares at it, his expression shifting wildly. He finally tears his gaze away from it to Deacon. “What… what is it?”

Deacon swallows, unable to answer immediately. “It’s… it’s from your mom. I don’t know what’s on it.”

Shaun takes a step back, horror coloring his features. “How do you - why do you have _that?”_ His gaze flickers rapidfire between the tape and Deacon’s face, and Deacon’s heart breaks at the terror written there. Shaun shakes his head. “No. _No.”_

He smacks Deacon’s hand, and the tape goes flying. It hits the ancient asphalt with a sickening crack, and Shaun runs off so quickly he nearly trips over himself. He doesn’t look back. Not that Deacon truly blames him.

Wandering over, he picks up the tape. There’s a crack running down Shaun’s name, but it looks mostly intact. He shoves it into his pocket with a sigh, gaze rising skyward. Clouds obscure the stars from view; it looks like it might rain soon. Deacon runs a hand through his hair with a sigh before turning to follow Shaun.

His gaze drifts back to the clinic, and he wonders if things will ever be the same.  


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate tries to figure out how to function in the world he finds himself in.
> 
> Nate PoV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter yay, and with plot!
> 
> I've been trying to solidify a lot of Nate's traits, and I think I've managed to do so pretty well with this chapter. :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, BIG THANKS to RemindMeWhoIAm, and Sunsolace for checking this over (for several chapters and I keep forgetting to say thanks sorry!), and for just generally being ever so lovely! <3

There’s something comforting about the dark, Nate realizes as he gazes through the window in Danse’s living room. The terseness of the day seems to fade with the dying light, and he feels renewed breath. It’s a strange feeling, if he’s honest. It was different before the Bombs. The night conjured monsters and fears the daylight chased away. He isn’t sure what changed.

Perhaps it’s due to night hiding the change of the world, so he can pretend that _home_ is still whole and unchanged. That his family isn’t a broken remnant he’s no longer truly part of. That his parents and brother are out there still and not dead and gone for hundreds of years. The fact he slept for over two centuries is a concept Nate finds difficult to grasp. Sometimes, he prays this is just a dream he hasn’t woken from.

He glances down the hall. To where Shaun is sleeping.

It’s strange, the baby he knew now a teenager in the blink of an eye. He swallows, closing his eyes and rubbing them wearily. The Shaun mere rooms away isn’t even truly the baby he once held. He’s a _copy_ , a fake designed in his son’s likeness. Nate still isn’t sure how he feels about that. Truly, he loves Shaun and wouldn’t trade him for the world, but even so…

Nate exhales through his nose, standing. His right knee wobbles ominously, and he leans heavily against the couch until the joint adjusts to his weight. He’ll need to see about getting a cane if this keeps up. The centuries worth of frigid cryo clearly did him no favors, not that his knee was in the best of shape before. He limps down the hall, silently opening the door to the children’s room.

Shaun is stretched out on his bed, all gangly limbs and tangled covers, but he seems to be resting peacefully. When he’d stormed into the house several hours back irritable and snappish, refusing to talk to anyone, Nate’d been worried. It’s good to see that worry was likely nothing.

He gently untangles Shaun’s arms and slides them in the blanket. The sleeping boy sighs and curls under the cover’s warmth, and Nate’s expression falters. In that moment, all he can see is Bobby wrapped up in his bed, and the brother shaped tangled knot of emotion shifts like a noose to strangle him. Since waking, he hasn’t had much of a chance to think about Bobby, but now… here in the dark, his mind darts from thought to thought.

Returning home from the war, he knew something had changed. Some subtle shift he couldn’t quite place, that the slot he filled in his life was no longer right. Initially, he thought it was himself, coming home from the war injured and emotionally fragile. Such things change even the strongest, and Nate was no different.

As the months passed and his body grew stronger, things seemed to return to normal. Nate was branded a war hero for saving the life of a fellow soldier (and nearly dying in the process). He could finally relax and enjoy being a husband, and Julia was a doting wife. They even learned that she was expecting, and Nate felt like everything was right with the world. That his service – and untimely discharge – had ultimately all been worth it.

But then he’d found that letter tucked away in a dresser drawer. His fingers curl into a fist at the thought, anger boiling up from the pit of his stomach. He’d wanted to retch, reading his brother’s honeyed words addressed to _his_ wife _._ He’d known they harbored feelings for one another from the years before he and Julia wed, but he never would have believed his dear Bobby and sweet Julia would have acted on those. He thought he had everything under control.

Oh how wrong he was.

He tucked that letter back where he found it and did what he did best. He detached himself and pulled away. From Julia. From Bobby. From _everyone._ He could see the pain he caused her, but all he could muster was a feeling of satisfied justice. _Good._ Let her hurt for the pain she caused. Let her wallow in despair.

Nate shakes away those thoughts, feeling the poison he rid himself of seeping back in. No use lingering in the past. No use worrying over a deed committed two hundred years ago. But even so, staring down at Shaun’s still form, he wonders if perhaps Julia lied to him once more. If the boy he held and loved as his own belonged to someone else.

Nate runs a shaking hand over his face, feeling the burn behind his eyes and pushing it aside. None of that matters now.

Bobby is gone, just like everything else, and there is no triumph in that.

His thoughts flicker to Shaun calling him Papa. A sweet aching tightness lances his chest, dissolving away the acid blooming there. He hadn’t expected it, but it brings joy to his heart. It almost feels like belonging, even though he knows he hasn’t been a part of Shaun and Julia’s family for a very long time. Julia, it seems, was never meant to be his for long. He sighs.

Nate wanders from the children’s room and outside the house. The air is cool against his skin, and Sanctuary is quiet. Taking a deep breath he meanders around, careful not to jostle his knee, and ends up under the massive tree in the cul-de-sac. He’s surprised to find someone else there, sitting on a boulder. The person doesn’t notice him, their head buried in their hands.

Nate steps closer slowly, startled when he realizes who it is. “Deacon?”

The man’s head snaps up, and he blinks in the dim. He isn’t wearing his sunglasses, and his eyes are red-rimmed. “Oh, uh, hey,” he manages after a moment of staring dumbly. “Whatcha doin’ out here in the middle of the night?”

Nate frowns. “I could ask you the same thing. You’ve been glued to Julia’s side.” Sudden panic grips him, seeping into his voice. “H-has something… happened?”

Deacon’s eyes widen, and he quickly shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Not unless you count Marcy Long.” At Nate’s furrowed brow, he continues. “Guess you haven’t met her. She’s… kind of a force of reckoning in her own right.” He rubs the back of his neck, and Nate notices that he’s wearing Julia’s Pip-Boy. “Got kicked out of the sick room.”

Nate sighs, rubbing his brow and trying not to feel lost. “Oh,” he murmurs dumbly, hooking a thumb back toward Danse’s house. “You, uh, wanna come inside? Beats sitting out here in the cold.”

Deacon glances that way before shaking his head. “Pretty sure Danse has a full house already. He doesn’t need me clogging up the floors.”

He frowns, watching the older man kick off the rock. There’s a sleekness to the way Deacon moves, an easy sort of grace Nate finds himself envying. He’ll never be able to move like that again. “Where will you go?”

Deacon grins with a shrug, sunglasses slipping back onto his nose. A shame. He really does look better without them. “Oh, you know me. Wherever the wind blows.”

Fear coils in Nate’s gut. He crosses his arms as he eyes Deacon. “You aren’t going to leave Sanctuary, are you?” he asks, quirking a brow in question.

Deacon stares at him, momentarily slack jawed before coming back to himself. He hastily waves away Nate’s concern. “’Course not. Don’t have anywhere to go besides.”

Nate isn’t sure he believes him but relaxes a little anyway. “Good. Be a shame for me to have to drag you back.”

“You’d be in good company, I think.”

He raises a brow at that. “Oh?”

Deacon hitches a thumb in the direction of Danse’s house. “Shaun’s threatened to chase me down if I leave, and have you ever seen the kid angry? _Scary._ ”

Recalling the way Shaun was snarling earlier this evening, Nate definitely agrees. “Well, since you aren’t leaving, and don’t wanna follow me home, wanna take a walk? I could use some fresh air.”

He laughs, sauntering up to Nate like he has no care in the world. “I think our definitions of ‘fresh air’ probably differ just a tad, but sure. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane. I’m game if you are.”

Nate swallows, staring at the smiling man beside him, and idly wonders if maybe this is a terrible idea. Oh well. In for a penny… “Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” He grins, and the pair begin strolling down the deserted streets of Sanctuary.

Their pace is a relatively slow one, given Nate’s knee, but if Deacon minds, he doesn’t show it. Deacon babbles inanely about the different buildings through town, and even though Nate knows what most of them are, he doesn’t stop him. It’s nice, just listening to the sound of his voice and taking comfort in another’s presence.

Nate’s really starting to understand why Julia is so fond of Deacon.

“Earth to the big man. You listenin’?” Deacon’s voice pulls Nate back to the moment, and he realizes they’ve stopped and Deacon is watching him.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… have a few things on my mind.” He nods, shooting him an apologetic smile.

Deacon graces him with a lopsided grin and shrugs, laughing. “Don’t we all?” He studies Nate for a moment more, his grin faltering a bit. “Listen, I… I know things seem like complete shit right now, but chin up, yeah? You got another chance. Not everyone does.”

Of all the things he expected Deacon to say, that wasn’t even on the list. Nate nods numbly, unsure of what else he might say. The rest of their walk is silent, both seemingly lost in their thoughts. When they get to the Danse household, Nate turns, expecting to wish his companion farewell for the night.

“Well, it’s been fun.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he just runs one through his hair.

Deacon nods, shifting on his feet. “Hey, uh, is the offer to crash here still open?”

Nate blinks. “Of course. You’re more than welcome. C’mon in.” He still isn’t sure what changed Deacon’s mind, but he sure as hell isn’t going to question it.

Try as he might to get him to take the bed, Deacon won’t hear it. He shoves Nate down on the mattress with a mischievous curve to his lips. “It’s gonna take more than a midnight stroll to get me into your bed, Tiger,” he murmurs, tone husky, and a shiver slips down Nate’s spine.

The comment distracts him just long enough for Deacon to curl up on the pile of blankets and pillow Nate retrieved for him and pretend to be asleep. Nate feels too warm and is pretty sure he’s blushing, but that’s a worry for another time. It’s too damned late to be thinking about that sort of thing.

With a sigh, Nate curls up and falls asleep to the sound of Deacon breathing just a few feet away.

 

The next morning, a meeting with Julia’s closest is called at the behest of Nick Valentine. Nate still feels unsettled by the detective, but if anyone has a plan to help Julia, he’s willing to listen. The current holding pattern isn’t doing anyone any sort of good. To his surprise, Deacon walks to the meeting house with him, though he’s tight-lipped the whole way.

Nate doesn’t blame him.

He thought Shaun might join them, but the boy took one look at Deacon and darted out the door on his own. Nate wonders exactly what that’s about, but he decides it’s a conversation for another time. They’re the first to arrive and take seats near the front of the room. The silence continues between them, and Nate’s eyes drift to the Pip-Boy still strapped to Deacon’s wrist.

“Hey,” he calls, waiting until Deacon’s head tilts toward him. “What’s with the Pip-Boy? It’s Julia’s, isn’t it?”

His brow furrows, just visible over his sunglasses as he touches the device. “Had it with me when I was with Julia. Didn’t feel right leaving it.”

Nate nods at that, recalling the short time he had the Pip-Boy, and the tape bearing his name that’s tucked away with his meager belongings. Does that mean Danse delivered Deacon’s tape? Did he listen to it? Nate itches to ask, but then again, he doubts he’d get a straight answer. He brushes the thought aside just as Nick and the woman who came in with him – was it Piper? – arrive.

The pair walk over to them, and Nick smiles. “Hey there, fellas. How are you holdin’ up?”

When Deacon doesn’t respond, Nate takes it upon himself to. “We’re makin’ it. Ain’t that right, Deacon?”

The older man glances up and nods absently. “I’m just swell, Mr. Valentine.” There’s a jauntiness to his voice, but it’s hard to miss the troubled expression on his face, though Nick and Piper seem to.

“That’s good to hear. Hopefully, by the end of this we’ll have a game plan,” Piper says with a hesitant grin.

It’s one Nate returns before looking down at his hands. It’s probably rude not to continue the conversation, but Nate just can’t bring himself to care much. He’s tired and misses Julia.

“We’ll get started once Danse, Curie and MacCready get here. Should be any minute,” Nick says, and that draws Nate’s attention. If Curie is coming, who will watch over Julia?

He must have spoken the thought aloud because Nick chuckles. “Both the Longs, Marcy and Jun, will be keeping watch over her. They’ve been studying medicine with the docs here, so don’t worry. She’s in good hands, and if anything happens, they’ll make sure to come get Curie.”

Nate relaxes at that and nods. Nick and Piper both move on, taking seats at the head of the room, and Nate turns toward Deacon. There’s tension in the man’s shoulders, and Nate pats his knee. “Relax. Jules is a fighter, and we’re going to do everything we can to help her, yeah?”

Deacon flinches at his touch, but he does relax a little. Whether it’s for Nate’s benefit or not, he isn’t sure. He manages a smile. “Yeah, buddy. Whatever you say.”

Danse slips in and takes a seat behind Nate. He pats his shoulder, and Nate returns a grin. “Is Shaun coming?” he asks, seeing the boy isn’t anywhere in sight.

Danse shakes his head at that with a frown. “He’s decided to stay home with Sarah and the children. I believe Duncan and Nat were going to visit as well.”

Nate notices Deacon flinch at that, but he doesn’t comment. Clearly, something happened between Shaun and Deacon. Nate wonders if that was the source of Shaun’s ire yesterday.

Curie and MacCready file in a short time later. RJ clearly seems agitated, arms crossed with a frown. “Alright, so what’s all this about, Valentine?”

“I am hoping it is good news, yes?” Curie says with a smile.

Nick chuckles, adjusting his hat. “Well, I’m certainly hoping so. Anyway, let’s get down to business. Curie, from what I’ve heard, you’ve done everything in your power for Julia. That’s correct, isn’t it?”

“Oui, Monsieur Valentine. She is thankfully stable, but there is nothing more to be done with my current skills. Perhaps with more specialized equipment I could do more, but I am uncertain.” The doctor frowns at this, clearly upset that her hands are effectively tied.

“Well, that got me thinking. Who might have the knowledge to help Julia that Curie doesn’t, and then I remembered. Dr. Virgil.”

Nate isn’t familiar with the name, but Curie brightens at that. Deacon cringes. “Who?”

“He is a doctor who assisted Julia with infiltrating the Institute. He is a former member,” Curie supplies, and Nate finds himself frowning.

“He was part of the Institute? Why would he help us? Are we sure he’s trustworthy?”

“He’s been with the Minutemen for several years now, and he’s been nothing but helpful. He _did_ desert, y’know.” Piper grins at that, stepping forward. “And let’s just say that Julia did him a big favor. Like, the biggest of favors.”

“Where is Virgil?” Danse asks. “Last I heard, he was in the Glowing Sea.”

 _Glowing Sea?_ Nate has no clue where that might be, but he files it away for later. Certainly doesn’t sound pleasant.

“He’s currently the doctor at the Castle. Which brings me to another question. Preston and John are still at Vault 81, aren’t they?”

Curie nods at that. “Yes, Monsieur Sturges spoke to them over the radio yesterday, and they were still in negotiations for equipment. I am hoping to procure a machine that can monitor Julia’s brainwave patterns for anomalies.”

“Well,” Piper begins, fidgeting with her hands, “what if they swing by the Castle and pick Virgil up on their way back? I’m sure someone from the Institute would have knowledge no Commonwealth doctor would. We just wanted to know what everyone thought before we acted on it.”

“What the hell are we waiting for?” RJ yells, his grimace lifting into something almost hopeful.

“I agree,” Danse replies, throwing in his voice. “But we still haven’t heard from those closest to Julia. Nate, Deacon, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

Nate doesn’t know this doctor, but if he can help Jules, he’s all for it. “It sounds like the best course of action.”

“Anything to help Julia,” Deacon finally says, though he doesn’t look up from his lap. Nate rests a hand on his arm, and Deacon glances up at him. The smile he shoots him is anything but comforting.

After a fair bit of logistical talk on how this plan will work that Nate barely listens to, the meeting is adjourned. Everyone else files out, but Deacon doesn’t move. He just sits there, staring at his hands, motionless.

“Hey, you okay over there?” Nate asks softly, but Deacon doesn’t respond for a while.

Nate’s about to speak again when Deacon finally says something. “So, this is it, isn’t it?”

Brow furrowing, Nate leans forward trying to catch Deacon’s expression. “What do you mean?”

His hands ball into fists before relaxing. “If this… if Virgil can’t do anything. Then, we’ve lost her.”

Nate’s world tilts sideways. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but the only answer he can come up with is _yes._ This is the last chance they have, and if it _fails…_ “It won’t fail,” he says instead, unwilling to entertain the thought. “Everything I’ve heard makes this Institute out to be some mecca of scientific advancement. There’s no way he can’t help. Have faith.”

Deacon looks up at him, and as he studies Nate something in his expression shifts. He sighs and shakes his head in disbelief. “When you say it, I can almost believe it.” Pushing himself up, he holds out his hand to Nate. “C’mon, let’s it outta here. Smells like lunch’ll be ready soon, and I’m _starving.”_

Nate takes his hand with a grin, allowing the older man to pull him to his feet. His knee seizes on him, and he sways, but Deacon was apparently ready for it and steadies him easily.

“Think we ought to have Curie check out that bum leg before you take a nasty tumble,” Deacon quips. “Though, I got a nice cane you can borrow. Really top off the whole dashing look ya got going on.”

“Sure,” Nate laughs, and the pair walk out. Deacon starts heading toward the mess hall when Nate grabs his arm and diverts him toward Danse’s. “Hang on. Before we go eat, let’s swing by home for a second.”

“What is it?”

Nate waves him on with a smile. “Just c’mon. It won’t take long.”

Shaun is sitting in the living room with Nat and Duncan when they walk in. He grins when he sees Nate, but that expression drops the moment he sees Deacon. Nate makes a mental note to ask what happened later. “Hey, buddy. Is Sarah still here with the girls?”

“Yeah, Papa,” Shaun says, ignoring Deacon, who seems happy to be ignored. “She’s in the back.”

Nate steers Deacon down the hall and into the children’s room. He doesn’t protest, but there’s a tension to him that Nate can’t help but notice. “Hey, relax. Everything’s alright,” he murmurs into Deacon’s ear as he knocks on the door. “Sarah, it’s Nate. I’ve got Deacon with me, can we come in?”

“Sure, door’s open,” Sarah calls, and she grins when they walk in. “Oh, Deacon! I’m so glad you’ve come to visit. C’mon, Ellie’s right here. I’m sure you want to see her.”

Deacon walks over without any persuasion and takes the little girl in his arms.

Sarah picks up Marie and smiles. “I’ll give you both some time alone,” she says and leaves with her own little bundle.

Deacon doesn’t say anything, but Nate notices a slight tremble along his shoulders. He walks over and rests a hand on the back of Deacon’s neck. The older man glances up, clearly teary-eyed even with sunglasses hiding his eyes. Nate smiles in sympathy as Deacon clears his throat. “I really don’t deserve her,” he whispers, gently brushing the back of his finger against Ellie’s cheek.

Nate frowns at that. “Of course you do.”

He huffs through his nose, shaking his head. “I was so focused on Julia’s life that I forgot about her. That isn’t something a dad should do.”

“Hey,” Nate says, “It’s okay. You’re here _now._ You can’t change the past, but you _can_ change the future. We’ll take care of Ellie and Shaun together.”

He snorts, bouncing Ellie in his arms. “Pretty sure Shaun hates me. Can’t really blame him. I keep letting him down.”

“There’s not a book on how to do this, and we all make mistakes. He’ll come around. Not like I’ve been the best dad on the planet lately either. It’s not too late to make it right, and you aren’t alone. We can help.” Nate finds himself massaging the back of Deacon’s neck, hoping it might ease some of the tension humming through him. If Deacon minds, he doesn’t mention it, and some of his anxiety does seem to wane.

Deacon studies Nate’s face before nodding. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Nate leans over Deacon’s shoulder and grins down at Ellie. “Hello there, pretty girl,” he coos before glancing back up at her dad. “She really is beautiful.”

“She really is.”

Ellie yawns and opens her eyes, her gaze latching onto Deacon. He hesitantly lifts off his sunglasses, wiggling the leg at her playfully. “Hey there, Sunshine. Daddy’s here, and he loves you. Daddy loves you so, so much.” Deacon’s voice cracks at the end, but his smile doesn’t falter.


	23. Author's Note

Hey guys!

Sorry for those who were hoping for a new chapter, only to get an author's note. I just wanted to give y'all an update. All my WIPs are currently on hiatus, so I can plan out exactly where I want to go with each of them before continuing. They are NOT abandoned. I will be back, and these will be finished! Promise. I just want to make sure I can write the best story that I can for your enjoyment.

Thank you all for your support and kind words. I really do appreciate them more than words can say. <3


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